


Put A Ring On It

by Budiamond



Category: Hollywood U: Rising Star
Genre: F/M, Living Together, Marriage Proposal, POV Second Person, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-09-23 19:06:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 39,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9671969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Budiamond/pseuds/Budiamond
Summary: After finally deciding to accept Professor Hunt's offer to move in with him, the two of you go through the ups and downs of living together. But between your wildly differing personalities, jealous exes, and a possible proposal looming on the horizon, will the two of you be able to make it work?





	1. Decisions

**Author's Note:**

> I'm writing this story on the assumption that if I post it, according to Murphy's Law, the Pixelberry staff will release another Hunt date and render whatever happens in here wildly canonically inaccurate. :D  
> Also, I'm just not good at waiting. So without further ado, here's my take on what could happen after the events of Rachel's wedding.

You stuff your luggage into the overhead locker, doing your best to simultaneously keep it from dropping back down on your head while also maneuvering out of the way of people trying to get past you in the aisle. When it’s finally in, you flop into your seat with a sigh of relief before accidentally bumping gouging Addison in the shoulder with your elbow.

“Sorry!” You apologize as she winces, rubbing her the wounded area.

“Don’t worry about it,” she reassures you. “Not your fault. It’s pretty cozy in here.”

She gestures around the economy cabin, where 20-something more of your classmates are crowded in with the other customers, stowing their luggage and trying to get comfortable. Lisa Valentine slides into the seat on your right and makes a face.

“I’m starting to regret not taking Air Valentine. It’s been a long time since I’ve flown coach,” she grumbles, wriggling around in the cramped seat. “Remind me why we have to be stuffed in here like sardines for the next 12 hours instead of flying in style on my private jet?”

“Because Professor Hunt said this is a school trip and that means we all need to travel together, ‘no exceptions’?” Addison repeats the last part in her best Hunt voice, punctuating it with the same glare he’d worn on his face when he’d made the announcement.

“Easy for him to say; _he’s_ travelling first class with the other teachers.” Lisa rolls her eyes, wiggling in her seat as if that’ll magically make it expand. She shoots you a look. “Hey, he’s _your_ boyfriend, couldn’t you have talked some sense into him?”

You feel your cheeks start to redden. Since, thanks to Bianca, the nature of your relationship is common knowledge among both the faculty members and the entire student body of Hollywood U, you and Hunt quickly laid strict groundwork for your interaction inside the classroom, just to make sure neither of you get in any further trouble. And, more importantly, so that nothing gets weird.

During class hours you are 100% student and teacher (well, 100% student and smoking-hot teacher – sometimes you do catch yourself fantasizing about him. You’re only human)  and so whenever anyone brings up the matter that you are, in fact, more than that, it always catches you off guard.

Fortunately, Addison, true best friend that she is, comes to your rescue.

“Lisa, have you _met_ Professor Hunt? I don’t think he can even say the _words_ ‘special treatment’, let alone give it.” She nudges you gently. “And knowing you, you wouldn’t want to put him in that position, right?”

You nod gratefully. “Right. We wouldn’t have lasted this long if I tried to use our relationship as leverage to get special favors.”

Lisa grins wickedly. “I dunno, I remember when you got blitzed on a bottle of vodka at that party a few weeks ago, you went into some _explicit detail_ about the ‘ _special favors’_ he did for you on his desk after hours in--”

“The key words there being ‘ _after hours’_ ,” you hiss frantically, trying to hush her as you flush darker by the second. Addison’s face has gone pretty pink as well, but she also seems to be holding back an amused laugh. “Also, can we not talk about that here? He and I _do_ still have a couple of shreds of professional dignity left intact between us.”

Lisa mimes a zipping motion across her mouth, but she looks pretty pleased with herself.

“So, which teachers are chaperoning this trip? I know Hunt’s coming, obviously. Who else?” Lisa changes the subject.

You and Addison share a bemused look.

“Lisa, do you ever pay attention in class?”

Lisa snorts. “I think the question you meant to ask there was, ‘Lisa, do you ever _come_ to class’?” Addison sends her a disapproving glare, and she relents. “Kidding, kidding. I do listen, usually, but whenever Hunt goes off on those big tangents about how great he is and how much we suck, my mind starts to wander and then suddenly the lecture’s over.”

“I think that means ‘no’,” you say in an exaggeratedly loud whisper.  Then before Lisa can respond, you continue, “Well, to answer your question, since the director of the movie we worked on is Hunt’s friend, obviously he’s coming. Then there’s Professor Singh, because apparently she doesn’t trust Hunt to keep us out of trouble by himself in a foreign country. And Professor Moriyama is coming as our interpreter since he’s the only faculty member who can speak Japanese.”

“Hey, remember that time we went to Japan on my world tour in a plane that didn’t suck?” Lisa says, sounding a little forlorn. You and Addison both laugh.

“Let’s check out the movie selection,” you suggest. “That should distract you for a while.”

The three of you turn your attention to your entertainment systems.

One in-flight meal and three movies later, you doze off halfway through the 1971 version of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. The next thing you know, you’re jolted awake by a voice speaking directly into your ears.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. We will soon be commencing our in-flight meal service…”

You pull off the complimentary headphones that you must’ve fallen asleep wearing, and look around. Lisa is already wide awake, and Addison is blinking blearily, obviously having just been roused from sleep herself.

“Is it time for breakfast already?” You ask, hoisting yourself up straight and trying to stretch a crick out of your neck.

“Yup. You sleeping beauties were out for like, 4 hours. I don’t know how you do it. I can’t sleep sitting up unless I’ve been awake partying for 24 hours straight.” Lisa says.

A couple of rows ahead you can hear Bianca voicing similar frustrations in much less pleasant words.

“These chairs are hardly even big enough for a half a person. Anyone who managed to sleep soundly in these must be _really_ used to slumming it.” Her grating whine in your ears was hardly the first thing you wanted to wake up to in the morning, and you find yourself subconsciously gritting your teeth.

“How long until we land?” Addison taps on her in-flight entertainment screen, checking the flight details. “Wow, just over two hours. We really did sleep right through a third of the flight.”

“Jealous…” Lisa mutters.

You lean over Addison to look out the window. It’s grown light outside, but all you can see below is an expanse of blue ocean dotted with the occasional fluffy white cloud. Still not a trace of land in sight. At least it looks like it’s going to be a fine day.

Breakfast is served shortly thereafter and you munch on scrambled eggs and a roll as you excitedly discuss the trip ahead with your classmates.

“It’s going to be the 30th Tokyo International Film Festival, so hopefully this year will really be something special,” says a girl from the makeup department. “Either way, I’m excited to see my work come to life on the big screen.”

“Same. I feel so indebted to Professor Hunt’s director friend for letting us work on this movie.” The composer sitting next to her agrees. “I know she said she was interested in showcasing fresh talent, but I’m still humbled she took a chance on a bunch of university students.”

“A bunch of university students that got her film nominated to the TIFF,” Lisa reminds them, smirking. “I still think it’s unfair that there’s no award for best theme song, because I would’ve won it for us, hands down.”

 “I’m sure we’ll win something,” you say. “I mean, Hunt described the final product as ‘more than adequate’. I’ve never heard him say something like that about anything we’ve worked on. That’s as close to a 5-star review from him as anyone ever gets.”

“Unless he’s reviewing himself,” Lisa says, and Addison snorts.

The plane touches down a couple of hours later. You’re glad to stretch your legs after a straight half-a-day of sitting down, save for the occasional toilet break. Professor Moriyama guides your group through customs and out of the airport, and it’s not long before you all find yourselves on a bus headed for Shinjuku.

Hunt sits at the front of the vehicle with the other professors, but you make eye contact with him as you board, and he actually affords you a small smile instead of the usual curt nod he reserves for you during class time. He must be in a good mood, you think. Or, maybe he’s just happy to see me after 12 hours apart. The latter idea makes your heart tingle a little and you smile back before brushing past and taking your seat.

Traffic is pretty bad, but a little over an hour later, the bus drops you at the Keio Plaza, one of Tokyo’s top hotels.

“Well, they may have skimped on the plane, but at least they’re not skimping on the accommodation,” Addison muses. “Looks like we’re staying in the Plaza Superior Room.”

“I dunno, I would definitely call three-to-a-room ‘skimping’,” Lisa says. “But if I’m sharing with you guys, I have no complaints.”

“Ugh, tragic.” You instantly feel your body tense at the sound of Bianca’s voice coming from behind you. “The three of you together in one room? They must have decided to confine all the losers to one place.”

“I’m pretty sure I remember us specifically being able to choose who we roomed with on this trip,” you reply coolly, not taking her bait. “But I understand if your memory doesn’t span back more than two weeks.”

“Whatever.” The elevator dings and Bianca barges past you, Jenni in tow. “You guys may have to wait to take the next one. People of my caliber don’t ride with people of yours.”

“Funny, I could’ve sworn we just arrived her on the same bus,” you bite back. She just sends you a malicious smirk as she hits the close button and the elevator doors shut in your face. You try your best not to grind your teeth together.

“She is the absolute worst,” Addison seethes. “But I guess if the alternative to this was sharing a confined space with her for even 30 seconds, we  got the better outcome.”

“Forget her!” Lisa waves the key card to your room. “We don’t have anything on our schedule until 10:00 tomorrow morning. I say we get to our room, shower, get changed and then get ready to take Tokyo by storm!”

“As long as taking Tokyo by storm involves lunch, because I’m pretty sure in about an hour I’m going to be ravenous,” you say. “And don’t you want a nap or something? You didn’t even sleep on the flight.”

“Are you kidding?” Lisa stares at you as if you’ve sprouted hands from your head. “Why would I waste time sleeping when I could be out having the time of my life in Tokyo?”

“I’ll make you a coffee,” Addison offers. “If you won’t get some sleep, at least get some caffeine. I’m pretty sure I saw something about complimentary tea and coffee in the rooms.”

The three of you ride the next elevator up to your floor and search for your room number. Lisa presses the card to the sensor lock, opening the door, and you all pile inside.

“Wow, look at this mirror,” Addison calls from the bathroom. “This is going to be amazing for doing makeup. I think I can see all my pores and… ugh, I think I need to exfoliate.”

“Check out the view. This is going to look awesome at night.” Lisa stares out the window. “I can’t wait to throw the TV out of here.”

You shoot her a startled look and she grins back with a ‘gotcha’ expression. “Just kidding. I’ve moved past that stage of the rock star life. Mostly.”

Addison emerges from the bathroom and taps you on the shoulder. “You can take the first shower. I’m going to make Lisa that coffee I promised her.”

“Thanks.”

You slip into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you, and turn the shower knobs. Hot water gushes from the head and you shed your clothes, stepping under the flow.

The hot water feels good on your body. There’s a certain kind of grime that seems to collect on human skin during long-haul flights and you’re glad to finally be rid of it. You vaguely find yourself wondering what Thomas is doing right now, if maybe he’s showering too. It seems entirely likely. He can’t stand not being clean for very long.

You stop that line of thought. Even after making it through a school-wide scandal, attending his sister’s wedding and countless other insane escapades together, imagining him naked still makes you blush.

Not wanting to force Lisa and Addison to wait too long for their turn, you quickly soap yourself up, finish up your shower and dry off. You emerge from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, your hair still wet.

“Whoever wants the shower next, it’s all your…” You trail off.

Professor Hunt is sitting on the loveseat in your room, while Lisa and Addison perch on the ends of their respective beds. No one is speaking, and you’re pretty sure the awkward silence in the room was there before you walked back in.

Hunt clears his throat, purposefully diverting his gaze from where the towel is barely covering your cleavage. “Ah. There you are.” He coughs, then clears his throat again. “I was hoping to speak with you.” His eyes skim over Lisa and Addison. “…privately.”

“Oh, well then,” Addison says, her voice bright. “Great timing! We were just leaving, right Lisa?”

Lisa stares at her. “We were?” Then, “Oh, right! Yeah, that’s what we were about to do. Leave.”

Hunt stands, brushing imaginary dust off the lapel of his suit jacket. “No, that won’t be necessary. I have my own private room where we can talk. Don’t let me keep you two from your showers. You look like you need them.”

You notice a vein near Lisa’s eye twitch a little. “Wow, thank you, professor.”

If he notices her sarcasm (and it’s Hunt, so he most likely does), he doesn’t show it. “You’re welcome.”

He re-focuses his attention on you. “I’ll wait outside while you get changed,” he says, then walks briskly towards the door and shuts it behind him.

Lisa scowls after him. “Well, if you don’t mind, Addi, I think I’ll take the shower first since I apparently ‘need’ it so badly.”

Addison lets out a good-humored chuckle. “Be my guest.”

Lisa grabs an over-sized bag of toiletries, then heads into the bathroom, and Addison immediately whirls around to interrogate you, blonde hair flipping over her shoulder.

“Sooo…” She says slowly, drawing the word out. Her eyes glint playfully. “What do you think he wants to talk about?”

You swallow, remembering the conversation you had with him after his sister’s wedding, when he presented you with a spare house key and asked you to move in. You remember how you asked him for some time to think about it.

You remember how you still haven’t answered him.

“I have my suspicions,” you say, keeping it vague. “I’ll let you know if they play out.”

She raises an eyebrow at you but doesn’t push. “Okay. But only because I know for a fact that you’re going to tell me everything after you come back, right?”

“Like I’ve ever kept anything Hunt-related from you for more than an hour after it happens,” you say, and she grins. “Okay, I’d better get changed. We both know he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

You grab a simple blouse and skirt from your luggage and pull them on while Addison lounges on her bed behind you.

“So, it’s just going to be you and Hunt, alone in a fancy hotel room…” She says, and you snort as you do up the buttons of your blouse.

“He doesn’t play coy, and you know it. If he says there’s something he wants to talk about, he definitely wants to talk,” you insist.

“I know… but after you’ve finished talking, you’re still going to be alone with him in a fancy hotel room…” She says innocently.

“Hmm, you do make a fair point there.” You smooth out your clothes. Your hair is still wet, but you don’t have time to dry it. “But I’ll try not to be too long. Lisa did promise us lunch. And a multitude of other adventures.”

You pad across the plush carpet to the door and give Addison a smile over your shoulder.

“Wish me luck.”

“Be good,” she answers cheerily, and you wink back.

“I’ll try. But no promises.”

 

Hunt is waiting in the hall, as promised. He smiles when he sees you and it’s funny, even after all this time, how the sight of a simple smile on his face still makes your heart do somersaults. He doesn’t even bother to double-check if anyone is around before he takes your hand, and you once again find yourself grateful that, no matter how awkward it is that everyone knows you’re dating your professor, you don’t have to hide your relationship in public anymore.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” You ask as he leads you down the hall towards to elevators.

“Are you sure you don’t know?” He asks, and you avert your eyes. “I’ve been wanting to speak with you about it for some time, but what with having to coordinate you lot for the movie on top of my usual schedule… and then having to plan this trip to the screening here, we really haven’t had much time alone.”

The elevator arrives with a ding and you step inside. As soon as the doors close, he steals a kiss. You grasp gently as the tails of his suit coat and his arms circle your waist, drawing you close and deepening the kiss for a brief moment before the elevator slows to a stop at his floor. It’s all too brief, especially after being denied so much time together over the last couple of months, but you’re sure there’s more of the same waiting for you behind closed doors.

You wait for him to open his room and follow him in. It’s about the same size as yours, except that it’s only housing one occupant. Usually you’d tease him about privilege and living in the lap of luxury, but he looks like he’s in single-minded mode right now.

He sits on the end of the bed and pats the spot beside him, but the look on his face says it’s more an order than an invitation.

You lower yourself down next to him, and he immediately puts an arm around you, drawing you close once more.

“So…” You begin.

“So.” He repeats. “Do you have any idea why I’ve brought you here?”

You try not to laugh at the incredibly teacher-esque wording. “Oh, my. Am I in trouble, professor?”

He rolls his eyes.

“That depends. If you keep beating around the bush like this, perhaps maybe you will be.” Then he looks you at you dead on, expression serious. “Have you thought about it at all? My proposal, I mean.”

You shrug, scuffing your shoes against the carpet. “Well… yeah. How could I not? It’s all I _have_ been thinking about, really.”

He raises an eyebrow. “All thinking and no action? That’s very unlike you.”

You’re both silent for a moment and then you sigh. “Okay. Okay, so I guess I have been stalling.”

Hunt’s brow furrows and he takes one of your hands in his own. “I’m not expecting you to say yes. You do realize that, don’t you? I am expecting an answer of some sort, though. Not…” He waves his free hand around helplessly. “Well, not this. Not being stuck in limbo.”

You squeeze his hand back, resting a head against his shoulder and inhaling the scent of his cologne. The smell has grown familiar over the months, so much so that it’s almost comforting.

“It’s rather funny,” he speaks again, stroking your fingers with the pad of his thumb. “I led you on a merry dance for so many months, pushing you away enough to keep you at a distance, but giving you enough hope that you continued to pursue me. Feels like the tables have turned.”

“Hey.” It’s your turn to be serious now. You slide your hand out of his and cup his face, the skin of his cheeks soft under your palms. “I’m not pushing you away, okay? I’m just… hesitating. I just feel like…”

You sigh, not really knowing how to express what you feel. The problem in your head is abstract, not fully formed, but you know there’s _something_ there that’s keeping you from making up your mind.

“I dunno. It’s just difficult. It feels like there’s more to this relationship than just us.”

“The same is true of any relationship. Nothing exists in a vacuum,” he counters. “The question is, do you want this or not? If it’s too soon, that’s alright. We don’t have to live together just yet, though I will admit that the idea is... pleasing.”

You ignore the typical emotionally-stunted Hunt-style wording.

“That’s just it, though. I do want it, it’s just… I’m not sure I’m allowed to have it.” You shrug. “I know it sounds weird.”

“You’re right. It does.” He sighs, patting you on the thigh. “I’m not exactly sure what’s holding you back from giving me a clear answer. But I’m not going to push you. You aren’t the kind to mull over things for long, so I suppose I’ll have my answer eventually.”

He looks slightly disappointed, and not in the usual Thomas Hunt way of ‘This work is sub-par and I expected much better from you’. It breaks your heart a little.

“I apologize if I moved too fast,” he continues, voice forlorn. “We spent so much time dancing around each other that I often forget our first date was barely more than several months ago.”

“You’re just making up for lost time,” you tease him. “All that time you wasted pretending there was nothing between us.”

“Or perhaps I’m feeling my age. 34 this year and only getting older.” He strokes your hair and pulls you in for a kiss. “If you wait too long I may just jump straight to the wedding.”

You ignore the flutter in your chest at the image his words invoke; a pure white dress. Him in a tuxedo, promising to love you forever… you mentally shake yourself out of it.

“Thomas Hunt doesn’t get old. He merely ages. Like a fine wine,” you say between kisses. You’re too close to see his eyes, but you can practically feel them rolling.

“Wines also have a peak age before they begin to deteriorate,” he tells you. “So make sure you don’t miss mine.”

You pull back and look into his eyes, seeing longing and affection, but with a tinge of resignation. You realize that you can’t keep putting this off, hoping a resolution will pop out of nowhere. You need to face your worries head on before you can settle them.

“Don’t worry,” you assure him. “You’ll have your answer soon.”

You make out on the bed for a while, but between your promise to have lunch with Addison and Lisa, and Hunt’s plans to go out to eat with the other Professors (apparently there’s a restaurant that Professor Moriyama absolutely _has_ to introduce them to), you stop it before it goes too far. Bidding Hunt farewell, you head back to your room to find Addison still waiting and the sound of Lisa singing at the top of her voice over the sound of running water.

“Is she still in there?” You ask, incredulous. You’ve been gone for like, 30 minutes.

“To be fair, I should’ve seen it coming,” Addison shrugs. “Lisa does seem like the sort of person who spends an hour in the shower.”

Then, her expression goes devious. “So… how’d it go?”

You shrug. “It… it went.”

Addison’s face immediately changes from devious to worried. “Is something wrong?”

You shoot a look at the bathroom door. It doesn’t seem like Lisa’s coming out any time soon. You take a deep breath.

“Can I… can I ask for your advice on something?”

She nods. “Sure. Anything, any time. What’s up? You’re making me nervous.”

You take a seat on your bed, across from her. “Okay… so… you know how I told you that Hunt asked me to move in with him.”

Addison nods. “Like, what, a month and a half ago?” Then she pauses. “Actually, come to think of it, you’re still living in the dorms…” She gasps. “Wait, did you say no? But this is all you’ve ever wanted, ever since that charity masquerade ball!”

You shake your head, damp hair flying about your face from the force. “I didn’t say no, I just… I didn’t really say anything.”

Addison’s eyes go wide and her mouth drops open. “Wait, so you left him hanging? You left _the_ Thomas Hunt hanging?”

“Um…” Suddenly the ground seems very interesting. You stare at it intently. “Maybe something like that.”

“But why?” You can hear the confusion in her voice. “This isn’t like you. You’re usually so sure of yourself. You usually come to decisions before you even realise you need to make them!”

“I know… and I want this more than anything, but…” You look up to meet her eyes. “But Hollywood U has been my home for almost a year now. I’ve made so many memories, and I can’t imagine being anywhere other than on campus. I’m surrounded by my friends. You and Ethan and Lisa… Crash, Holly… and it means I can always be there for you guys when you need me too. I don’t want to be that girl who abandons her friends just because she’s fallen in love.”

Addison is watching you carefully as you flounder for words. Her face is sympathetic but other than that, her expression is carefully blank.

“I don’t know…” You finally finish, “It doesn’t feel to me as if I’m choosing between moving in with him or staying in the dorms. I feel like I’m choosing between him and my friends.”

“Oh honey…” Addison reaches over to give you a friendly pat on the knee. “You’re so silly.”

“…hey!” You protest, but she’s having none of it.

“Look, I’m flattered that you care about us so much, but you know it doesn’t matter where you live, right? It’s not like you’re leaving Hollywood U. Professor Hunt barely lives more than a hop and a skip away.” She shakes her head. “Don’t let us stand in the way of something you really want. You’re always doing so much for other people. It’s time you do something for yourself.”

“But…” You start to say, but Addison shushes you.

“But what? If you were quitting school and moving half-way across the country for him then that’d be different. But it’s literally, what… a 5 to 10 minute drive from campus, depending on how many red lights you hit on the way?”

You’re silent for a moment. “You’re right. I… I was worried about you guys feeling like I was abandoning you. You all worked so hard to help me stay in school when I was on probation that even going to live off campus felt like it’d be a big betrayal.”

Addison gives an exasperated sigh, but she’s smiling. “After listening to you lament over Professor Hunt for so long _and_ helping you out with the whole Bianca blackmail fiasco, I would feel more like you were betraying me if you didn’t take this offer… when you so _obviously_ want to.” She gives you a pointed look. “I didn’t help you work through all that drama for nothing.”

You break out into a grin and lean over to hug her. Your heart feels lighter all of a sudden, as the burden you’d only half realized you’d been carrying is lifted from your shoulders.

“Addi, have I mentioned that you’re pretty much the best friend ever?”

“You could mention it more if you like.” She hugs you back. “And the fashionista dorm is always open for you to visit. Promise to come sleep over sometimes. Don’t lock yourself up in your love nest and never come out, you hear me?”

“Please don’t call it a love nest,” you say through laughter. “You’ve been to his house and you’ve seen enough to know it should never be called a love nest.”

Addison giggles. “Well, you know what you need to do now, right?”

You stare blankly. “What?”

“You have to tell him!” She says incredulously. “Let him know you’ve made up your mind!”

You pause for a second, and an evil smile crosses your face. “You know… I think I’ll make him wait just that tiny bit longer. See how he likes it.”

Addison visibly shivers a little. “Yikes. Remind me never to string you along lest you try to get revenge on me too.”

You flutter your eyelashes at her, then go to grab the hair dryer. “Oh, I won’t make him wait long. But first, I have a lunch date with our names on it.”

The three of you meet up with Ethan and Crash and go to grab a bite, before Lisa takes the wheel and leads you all over Tokyo, going to as many tourist destinations as you can fit in before ending your night at a giant club called, “Ageha”.

You decide to head home at about 1:00am, much to Lisa’s protests that things are ‘just heating up!’. But there’s still the matter of the film festival in the morning, and you all need to get at least 5 or 6 hours to sleep off the alcohol.

Or at least, that’s your excuse. You don’t let the others know, but through the tipsy haze of one too many cocktails the desire to see Professor Hunt and give him your answer suddenly becomes too much to bear.

Ethan hails a cab and you take it back to the hotel, splitting the cost of the right between you.

Lisa and Addison head back to your room first, Addison giving your shoulder a tiny squeeze and winking at you when you say something about “going to check on Hunt”.

“Good luck,” she mouths as the elevator doors close between you and you ride up a couple more floors.

“I really hope I remember his room number right,” you mumble to yourself, walking down the hall before coming to a stop outside the door you’re _pretty_ sure is the correct one and knocking.

You’re rewarded when a bleary-eyed Hunt, wearing his usual night time outfit of only a pair of flannel pajama pants, opens the door.

“This had better be good,” he mutters tersely. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

You shoot him a cheeky smile. “Oh, trust me. You’re going to want to hear this.”

You back him up into his room, letting the door swing closed behind you, immediately closing the gap between you and letting your hands go to his bare chest.

“You’ve been drinking,” he murmurs, sounding somewhat disapproving. “You know what a big day we have ahead of us tomorrow.”

“Mmm…” You pay his criticism no heed. “I’ll leave any regret until morning.”

You move in closer, lips brushing his neck, and he shivers, inhaling sharply.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the direction this is going in, but it is about 1:30 in the morning,” he chides you. “What’s so important that it can’t wait until tomorrow?”

You nuzzle his jaw line, then whisper in his ear, “I think… I think I’ve kept us both waiting long enough.”

His hand, which until now had been loosely encircling your wrist, suddenly grips tighter, and you feel his Adam’s apple bob in his throat.

“Is this, uh… would this happen to be about the issue we discussed this afternoon?”

You run a finger down his chest, then lower still, letting your hand come to rest at his hip.

“Thomas.” You kiss along his cheek, then down his neck. His arms loop around your waist and he pulls you to him in an almost crushing grip.

“Please don’t make any drunk promises,” he whispers to you, and there’s a vulnerability in his voice that you rarely ever hear. “I’m not sure that’s what’s best for either of us.”

“Does it count if it’s a decision I made before I had anything to drink?” You laugh softly, resting your cheek against his. “Because I had a heart-to-heart with Addison after you and I had our discussion this afternoon.”

“I see. And what did she say?”

You hug Thomas tight and you’re pretty sure you’ve never felt as much love for another individual as you do for him right now. You stare up into his eyes, feeling your pulse quickening. He brushes a lock of hair from your forehead, and in that moment, with a startling clarity, you know for certain that your mind is made up.

“She said to make sure I come back to the dorms to visit her sometimes.”

Hunt shakes his head and laughs, then kisses you until you’re dizzy, and you know in your heart that you’ve made the right choice.

“I suppose I can let her borrow you occasionally,” he whispers against your lips. “When I’m feeling generous.”

“Uh oh,” you say. “You’re never feeling generous. Should I tell her I’m never going to see her outside class again?”

“No,” Hunt says. “But you can tell her… well. You may tell her, ‘thank you’. From me.”

He sighs, the sigh of a man who’s just been freed of a huge burden and you feel a string of guilt for being the one to cause it. But right now seems like an opportune time to make up for it.

“I’ll tell her tomorrow,” you say, pushing him back towards his bed. “I don’t think I’ll be sleeping there tonight.”

“Keep this up and you won’t be sleeping at all.” He raises an eyebrow as you climb atop his knees the second he sinks backwards onto the fluffed duvet.

“And here I thought you were the responsible one.” You start to kiss down his shoulder.

“You do make a habit of bringing the irresponsible side out of me,” he replies, and in an instant he flips you over so he’s on top and you’re pinned down to the bed. “Now, what shall I do with you…”

You grin up at him, not resisting in the slightest. “I can think of several things…”

As predicted, you don’t get much sleep that night. But, you think, as you do your best to keep your eyes open during the screening of your film at the festival the next day, Addison and Lisa shooting you knowing looks all the while, it was all totally worth it.

 


	2. Compromise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So remember how in the first chapter I said that I'm writing this story because according to Murphy's Law, the Pixelberry staff will release another Hunt date if I do?   
> Well, Pixelberry are releasing a new Hunt date on Thursday. You can all line up to thank me, I take my payments in chocolate. ;)

You look around your room for anything you may have missed, but there’s nothing other than your suitcase, several bags stuffed to bursting, and piles of taped up cardboard boxes. You brush your hand along your brow, flicking away a drop of sweat. It hasn’t even been a year since you moved into the dorms, but you already seem to have acquired a small army’s worth of belongings.

Hunt seems to be of a similar opinion, sitting primly atop one of the larger taped up boxes, clearly exhausted but trying not to show it.

“Well, that admittedly took a lot longer than I thought it would. Are you sure we can’t just throw most of this out?”

You glare at him. “Do not even think about putting any of my stuff in the trash. I have a key to your house now. I will end you.”

“The university staff should have already dropped off the truck.” He changes the subject. “I suppose we’d better carry all of this outside.”  
  
He rises from the box and then turns around the pick it up, wincing at the weight.  
  
“Don’t put your back out, old man,” you say sweetly, and he turns to throw a scowl at you but doesn’t take the bait.  
  
You suppose that since he’s the one helping _you_ move that you’d better stop teasing him and put in your fair share of work instead. You grab a box full of clothes (Hunt had made the mistake of picking up the one filled with text books) and hoist it off the ground. Between the two of you, you get all your belongings outside and into the truck you’re borrowing from the university. It’s one of the fleet they use to cart around equipment for location projects, but since no one is using it you’ve got it for the day, courtesy of Hunt. It’s one of the few times you’re willing to take advantage of the perks of dating a professor.

You ride in the passenger seat. You’re not used to watching Hunt drive anything other than his luxury car, and the sight of him behind the wheel of a truck – particularly a dusty, unkempt one like this – almost makes you laugh. He usually wouldn’t be caught dead doing so; he’s all about perfection, from the movies he makes to the clothes he wears, to his house, to his choice of vehicle.

About halfway home, you hit a red stop light. He glances over at you while you’re idling, a peculiar look on his face.

“I’ve never done this before, you know,” he says.

You raise an eyebrow. “What, driven a truck? Because I have to admit, I was just wondering about that.”

He lets out an exasperated sigh. “Don’t be daft. I’ve driven my fair share of trucks. Comes with the business.” He reaches over and brushes a strand of hair back from your face, briefly letting his fingers rest against your cheek. “I mean I’ve never moved in with someone before. Unless you count that unfortunate period in college when I was forced to take a roommate. Which I don’t.”

“So you never asked any of your ex-girlfriends to…” you trail off.

“No. As you know, I have boundaries and they’re not easy for just anyone to overcome.” The light goes green and he steps on the gas again.

“You mean you aren’t willing to let people in,” you tease him, expecting a smart-ass reply. Instead he just smiles mysteriously, not taking his eyes off the road.

“Not all people. Sometimes I make… exceptions.”

You feel yourself blushing. It’d be a lie to say that you were lacking in the self-confidence department – you have it in spades. And you definitely know your own worth, but you wonder exactly what it is that keeps making you the exception for Hunt, over and over again.

“So this is going to make me the first woman you’ve ever lived with.”

 You’d been elated when he’d asked you to move in with him in the first place, but now you feel oddly flattered too. Given Hunt’s high standards, and given that he’s dated the likes of Marianne Delacroix and Priya Singh, the fact that it’s _you_ he’s chosen to let into his life in ways he’s never done before makes you realize just how special you are to him.

 “I do have a mother, and as you know rather intimately now, I also have a sister, so I hesitate to say that you’re going to be the _first_ woman I’ve ever lived with…” 

You’re fully aware that he’s teasing you and are therefore obliged to ignore him. You forego responding, choosing to look out the window instead. You’ve just pulled into his neighborhood, a street of modest-sized but well-to-do townhouses, most of them with impressive gardens and their own pools. You feel excitement bubbling in your chest, just below the surface. This is it. The first step in your new life together.

 

 

After one final spurt of effort, you finally place the last of your boxes in his foyer and let out a heaving sigh of relief.

“I hope you’re planning to keep me for a long time, because I definitely don’t want to go through that again anytime soon,” you tell him, stretching out your tired muscles.

“You’re not a pet,” he answers, his voice clipped. “I’m not ‘keeping’ you in my house; I’m living with you. There’s a difference. This is a mutual agreement between two adults.”

“Well then,” you lean against the door frame, shooting him a dazzling smile. “Feels good to be home.”

Something in his face changes, expression softening, and he closes the gap between you in two long strides, taking your hands in his and pulling you close.

“I must admit, this house had started to feel a little empty recently; all these rooms and no one but myself to utilize them.”

“That might also be because your house is so naked,” you say, gesturing around the room. “I know you like the minimalist approach but this place looks like a show home. We need to make it look like someone’s actually living here.”

“No,” Hunt says curtly. “I saw the state that your dorm room was in; belongings strewn about everywhere, posters pinned all over the walls with tacks. I shudder to think of the holes they left in the papering …”

You laugh, swatting at him. “Come on, Mr. Perfect, admit it. You need a little chaos in your life.”

“You _are_ the little chaos in my life.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, then lets you go. “Well, I need to return the truck and finish a little marking before classes this week. I suggest you start unpacking. I made some space in the closet for you, so you can put your clothes away. Any boxes filled with things you don’t need can go in the cellar until I concoct a plan to get you to throw it all out.”

“Never happening,” you assure him with a confident smirk. “So, see you in time for dinner, I guess?”

He stops in the doorway, jingling the truck keys in hand. “If you’re planning on cooking, just try not to burn the house down,” he warns you, and then he’s out the door.

With Hunt gone, you’re left with nothing to do but stare down the boxes and bags in the foyer, summoning the will to begin the task at hand.

‘This,’ you think, ‘is going to take a while.’

 

 

Hunt’s bedroom is as pristine as ever, not a single article of clothing thrown haphazardly across the furniture, the covers on the bed immaculate and not a pillow out of place. You shake your head. For someone who claims to be such a busy man, he certainly seems to have a lot of time for cleaning on his hands.

You tear open your first box, fishing out a photo frame containing a picture of you and your best friends at Hollywood U, taken after the wrap party for Permanent Wound. You may have left the dorms behind, but you decide that you can at least you can keep a little bit of the school with you while you’re living off campus.

You push one of Hunt’s many serious photos of himself with the Hollywood elite – him and Spielberg, it looks like – to the side of the dressing table where it sits, and plonk yours down next to it, then stand back to admire your handiwork. It makes the table look a little crowded, but if there’s one thing this house needs, it’s a touch of disorder.

Your makeup supplies come next. You tip them out and then line them up on his dresser, next to his carefully arranged hair care products and then tear open the next box. Clothes, and lots of them.

You stuff them into the closet beside his.

That makes three boxes done out of… twelve.

‘Okay,’ you think as you put a hand to your temple, ‘this is going to take _more_ than just a while.’

When Hunt comes back a couple of hours later, you’re curled up on the couch, exhausted, but fully unpacked.

“I see you didn’t burn down the house,” he says, “but I also have a feeling you didn’t actually touch the kitchen.”

“Guilty as charged. But I did finish unpacking.” You unfurl yourself from the ball you were in and reach an arm out to him. He takes your hand and pulls you up into a sitting position.

“Never mind. It’s been a long day and we’re both tired. We can celebrate our first night living together with takeout.”

“Pizza?” You ask hopefully, and he glares at you.

“Do I look like the kind of man who gets soggy, sauce-covered bread with congealed cheese delivered to his home? I rather think not.”

You put a hand over your heart, feigning horror. “You don’t like pizza? I guess all this time I’ve been mistaking you for someone with a soul… well, maybe not _all_ this time.”

Hunt makes an unimpressed sound in the back of his throat. “I never said I didn’t like pizza. I just happen to prefer a perfectly cooked traditional Napoli-style pizza, fresh out of a wood-fired oven.  Not those slabs of dough from Dominos that arrive at your door after steaming themselves in a cardboard box for 30 minutes.”

You fight to keep a smile off your face. Of course Hunt would be a perfectionist, even when it comes to pizza.

“Well you know what they say about pizza. It’s like sex; even when it’s bad, it’s still pizza.”

He sniffs, although you do catch a slight blush coloring his cheeks. “I prefer both good sex and good pizza, and as you know, I am not a man prone to settling. Now, if you’re quite done trying to convince me of the virtues of bastardized Italian cuisine, I happen to know an Indian curry place that delivers their food promptly and in excellent quality.”

You hold up your hands. “Okay, Gordon Ramsay. I never say no to curry. Go ahead and place our order.”

While he orders, you whip out your phone, noticing a new message from Addison.

‘ _How’s the first night in the love nest? Is he driving you crazy yet?’_

You roll your eyes and start to compose a reply as Hunt walks back over to you.

“Dinner should be here in 30 minutes.” He says. “In the meantime, I’m going to change out of this suit. I’ll be back in a moment.”

You nod in acknowledgement and then return to your phone, finishing the text to Addison.

‘ _omg Addi, just no. Stop with that name, I’m begging you. I’m all moved in, safe and sound. Thomas only just got back from work so I haven’t had time to go crazy yet, but I’ll let you know if anything changes.’_

You’re part way through checking the text for typos when you hear Hunt calling your name from the bedroom, and he does not sound pleased. The tone is somewhere between angrier than when you showed up late to his class on your first day at school, and calmer than the time you accidentally mowed down private property with a tank. Either way, it’s not a good sign.

“What?” You shout back, bewildered, and reluctantly get up from the comfortable couch.

You walk down the hall to the bedroom to see what all the fuss is about and find Hunt standing in the middle of the room, hands on his hips and a scowl on his face.

“What is the meaning of this?” He makes a wide sweeping gesture around the room with his hand.

You stare back blankly. “The meaning of what?”

“ _This_.” He says, not really clarifying anything.

“Um… you’re going to have to be a lot more specific than that.”

He lets out a frustrated growl. “This is _not_ your dorm room. I was a student once, so I’m aware that many university students are content to live in filth and disorder, but this is my house. I feel I made it very clear that I would not tolerate mess and the first thing you do? Turn my room into a tip.”

He raps his hand against the dresser where your makeup supplies lie in a jumbled pile.

“These, for example, are hardly essential. If you don’t have a box or a drawer to store them in, there was no need to unpack them. And these?” He gestures towards the pile of your university textbooks stacked on a chair. “I specifically asked you to put anything you wouldn’t be using in the cellar. Most of these books are from last quarter. Hardly anything I’d deem immediately necessary.”

You hold up your hands as if to try and stem the verbal onslaught. “Hey, wait just a minute now! I know you’re like, _obsessed_ with neatness and order, and I know this isn’t your style, but…”

“This isn’t _anyone’s_ style. This isn’t even _a_ style! It’s just mess.” He interrupts, shaking his head. “You obviously have too many belongings. Before, I was only half joking about throwing them out, but I think we seriously need to take a look at what is and isn’t disposable here.”

Your hands clench into fists and you feel your face reddening with a mix of embarrassment and anger.

“Look, I’m sorry I wasn’t more careful about keeping things to your liking, but you’re _seriously_ overstepping a line here. You invited me to live with you! You must’ve known that things weren’t going to stay exactly the same. What were you expecting?” You stare in right in the eye, defiant. “Did you think I would just exist without leaving a trace of the fact I’m living here? Because that’s not how this works.”

“Well, _obviously_ not. We’ll have to figure out how that’s going to work later, when we aren’t both tired and hungry. But I wish that you’d thought about keeping the atmosphere of the room intact when you were… decorating.” He says the last word with a hint of disdain. “I suppose I’ll fix what I can for now and we can work on the rest after dinner.”

He begins sweeping your makeup supplies back into a small box, then carefully takes the framed photo of you and your friends and packs it away as well, before righting the picture of himself and Spielberg back to its original position. You feel something inside you snap and before you can stop yourself, you slam your hand down on the dresser with a loud smack.

“I get it. It’s quite clear to me now that this is, and will only ever be, _your_ house. I’m just here keep you company. I don’t get any say in anything.” Your voice steadily rises in decibels as you get more and more upset. “I thought _you_ were the one who said that we’d be living _together,_ but I guess I’m just staying in Thomas Hunt’s house. God forbid there’s ever a touch of my existence anywhere to be seen!”

Hunt’s expression had started off cool and controlled, but a hint of surprise slowly creeps on to his face as you yell.

“If you’re going to treat us living together as if it’s one of your classes and you know everything and I know nothing…” you continue, “If living with you is going to be like some kind of assignment I have to submit for you to grade me on, then I quit!”

You spin on your heel and stomp out of the room, grabbing your phone and handbag from by the sofa and heading for the door. You hear Hunt behind you, trying to reason with you.

“Just calm down for a moment and let’s talk this through. Obviously there’s been some miscommunication here that we can work out if we just…”

You whirl back around to face him, eyes tingling as tears start to gather in the corners. You blink furiously to try and hold them back.

“No, I think we’ve both communicated our feelings well enough. I refuse to live here if I have to tiptoe around doing everything exactly to your impossibly high standards while you refuse to make room for _me_. You made it sound like you considered us equals, but obviously not.” You take a deep breath.  “I made a mistake. We’re too different and this arrangement is never going to work out. It was too soon for something like this, for something like living together. I think… I think this was all a mistake.”

You fling open the door, startling the delivery man on the other side as he’s just about to ring the doorbell, and you run past him down through the garden and out onto the street. You can hear Hunt calling to you, but you don’t stop to listen, taking off in the direction of the university at a run, only slowing down after ducking down a side street to make sure that Hunt can’t follow you in his car. You pull out your phone and unlock it, the unsent message you’d been composing to Addison still glowing on the screen.

‘ _I haven’t had time to go crazy yet, but I’ll let you know if anything changes.’_

You blink back a fresh wave of tears and scrap the message, starting a new one.

‘ _I hope you didn’t have any plans for tonight, because I really need someone to talk to.’_

 

 

You’ve barely knocked once on the door to Addison’s dorm room before it goes flying open.

“Okay, I know you said on the phone that you’d tell me what’s going on when you got here, and that I didn’t need to worry, but…” She shrugs. “Well, I’m still really worried. What _happened_?”

She takes in your red-rimmed eyes and the streaks of tears you haven’t been able to rub away and immediately pulls you into a hug. “Do you need me to kill him? Because I don’t think I could exactly bring myself to do that, but I could definitely have very angry words with him after class tomorrow.”

You manage a shaky laugh, hugging her back. “No, I… it wasn’t entirely his fault. I’m to blame too. I guess I was expecting too much when I moved in, like… I don’t know, it’s stupid.”

You stop and sigh, suddenly lost for words and Addison pulls you into her room, shutting the door behind you. She sits you down on a sofa, pushing a mug of hot cocoa into your hands.

“Okay, tell me everything. Last thing I knew, Hunt was helping you pack and move your things out of your dorm and you were all happy and excited. What changed?”

You look at her worried face, ready to listen to anything you say and offer advice, or at least a shoulder to cry on. Between the hurt and sadness, you can’t help but feel a surge of gratefulness.

“Thanks for everything, Addi. Um… where do I start…” You think back over the events of the day. “He had some work to finish up, and while he was gone, I unpacked all my stuff. Then he came back and… well, he really didn’t like what I’d done.”

Addison looks confused. “Done what? Unpacked? Because I can’t imagine Thomas Hunt loving the idea of cardboard boxes being left lying around his house.”

You take a sip of the cocoa, noticing for the first time that it’s been topped with whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles. It’s the little things, you think, that make situations like this more bearable.

“I… I guess after having time on the walk over to clear my mind, I realized that I wasn’t very… respectful of his space. I mean, I know it’s our space now, but I also know he hates clutter. And I could’ve tried harder to put my stuff away without messing up his room…”

You break off mid-sentence, feeling your eyes stinging again, and try to regain control of yourself. Addison watches you with a sad look in her eyes.

“I feel like there’s a ‘but’ coming after this,” she says. “We’ve been friends long enough for me to know that you don’t get this upset over Professor Hunt yelling at you over something justified.”

You nod, staring down into your cocoa for a moment before answering.

“I just felt so… so _inferior_. I’ve felt less inferior to him when he’s talked down to me in the classroom back when we were still just student and professor.” The anger you’d felt when you were still in his house, facing him down, starts to rekindle in your chest and you grip your mug tighter. “The whole perfectionist ‘everything must be done on my terms’ thing? It’s fine when it’s a movie he’s directing or a class he’s teaching. But this isn’t his job… this is my life… _our_ lives. We needed to compromise and he wasn’t even willing to listen.”

You fall silent and Addison sits there for a while, looking thoughtful.

“I really wish I could give you a solution here…” She says slowly. “But I think the only thing you guys can do is cool off for a while, and then talk it out.”

“If he’ll even let me talk,” you interject bitterly and Addison shrugs.

“He’s a huge jerk. Literally everyone in the entire school knows that. But I don’t think we’ve ever known him to be unreasonable.”

“Maybe that’s because you’ve never tried to date him,” you counter. You both pause and then start to giggle uncontrollably.

“Oh my god… can you imagine me and Hunt dating? My self-esteem would be flattened within a week.” She says, wiping a tear of laughter from her eye. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“He’s… he’s different when he stops being Professor Hunt and starts being Thomas,” you admit. “It’s not all criticisms and advice all the time. Sometimes the two versions of him overlap, but usually when it’s just the two of us, he’s…”  
You trail off and sigh. “I don’t know. I wish tonight had gone better. Maybe it was all my fault.”

“I don’t think just one of you was to blame, like you said,” Addison consoles you. “You know what I think? I think you’d both had a long day, you were tired, and neither of you is used to living with another person... or compromising with another person.”

“I can compromise. I compromise all the time,” you argue. 

“I know. But you’re still both used to getting your way despite that,” she counters, and you can’t argue there. “Both of you have big personalities and sometimes they clash. And tonight it sounds like they clashed hard. But he’ll want to talk it out. You know that.” 

“Do I?” You ask miserably, placing your mug on a side table and hugging your knees. “Because tonight he wanted to do a lot of talking but not much listening.”

"I’m positive,” Addison says. “You told me he’s given up on love in favor of his career before. With you, it was the other way around. He was willing to give up his career as a teacher to be with you. He thinks you’re worth it. Some little spat over a messy room won’t undo all that.”

“That… I guess that kind of starts to put it in perspective,” you admit. “If we didn’t break up over Bianca blackmailing us and his job and reputation being threatened, I guess we’re not going to break up because I left my cosmetics all over his dresser.”

Addison accidentally lets out an ungraceful snort. “You’d better not. If you did, I’d never be able to take either of you seriously again.”

“We do need to talk, though… if we leave things like this without compromising on our differences, that really would be something to break up over,” you say, and Addison nods emphatically, about to say something.

Just then, your stomach lets out a loud rumble, silencing her.

“I, uh… I may have run out of the house without eating any dinner,” you confess and Addison laughs.

“I haven’t had dinner yet either. Wanna get takeout?”

You nod. “Pizza?”

Addison smiles. “You read my mind.”

 

 

Despite coming to peace with the idea that you and Hunt need to have a long, calm discussion, you’re still nervous about going to his class the next day.

“It’ll be fine,” Addison soothes you as she digs through her closet, trying to find some clothes to lend you. “If nothing, he’s a professional. Class will be totally normal and then afterwards, you can pretend you have a question about our upcoming assignment and go to his office to chat.”

“Right.” You take the clothes from her. “Just be normal and sit in his class and act like we didn’t have a huge blowout yesterday.”

“You’re an actress,” Addison reminds you. “If you can't pull it off, your career might be in a little bit of trouble.”

The two of you walk to class together, changing the conversation to a more cheery topic. Still, when you arrive in class, you keep your head low until you get to your seat. After you slump down, you risk raising your gaze, cautiously glancing at the podium where Hunt is preparing for the day’s lecture. He’s looking back at you, expression unreadable, but at least he doesn’t look angry. When your eyes meet he quickly looks away, busying himself with his notes, and you’re surprised to see he actually seems nervous.

Class is a blur. You can hardly concentrate, so it’s fortunate that he chooses not to call on you for the entire lecture.

“He seems out of sorts,” Addison whispers to you under her breath. You start, snapping out of your thoughts.

“Does he?” You ask, focusing on him again just as a fumbles a pen and accidentally flicks it across the room.

One foolish student starts to laugh and Hunt silences them with a withering glare.

“Well. Only a little,” she amends herself. “Not so you’d notice if you weren’t looking for it.”

“That’s Hunt for you,” you say, actually feeling a small smile playing on your lips.

Class finally ends, and you’re in the midst of trying to psych yourself up to talk to him when you hear him call your name. Your head whips up so fast you’re surprised that you don’t damage your neck.

“Yes, professor?”

“I need to speak with you about your behavior during the lesson today. Don’t think I didn’t notice that you weren’t concentrating. I won’t tolerate that kind of disregard for learning in my classroom.”

“…fine.” You force a glare, but feel your shoulders slumping. He must still be angry after all, to call you out like that.

You follow him to his office, and he shuts and locks the door behind you. The two of you stand before one another, carefully trying to read each others’ faces, both silent as if waiting to see who’ll break first.

Surprisingly, it’s him.

“I…” He falters, and his expression makes it seem as if the words that follow are actually painful for him to force out. “I would like to apologize for my behavior yesterday.”

Your eyes widen. “You would? I thought we were here to talk about _my_ behavior. I mean, wait... you’re not mad about last night?”

“Well, neither one of us is fully to blame…” He back tracks. “…but, neither of us is fully free of blame either. I think the way I acted towards you was very unfair.”

You swallow and bite the inside of your cheek, trying not to fidget and show him how anxious you are. Then again, he can probably already tell. He has always been able to read you like an open book.

“I… I should say sorry too. I shouldn’t have had so much… disregard for the way you do things. I know we need to compromise, but I know I could have tried harder. And I shouldn’t have stormed out.”

Hunt regards for you a moment, then slowly reaches out and touches your hair. When you don’t resist, he moves closer and rests his cheek against the top of your head.

“Do you still think it was a mistake?” His voice is steady and measured, but you detect a hint of concern underneath.

“Nothing about our relationship is a mistake,” you say, wrapping your arms around his waist and leaning into him. You feel him relax into you and you do the same. “But not working to overcome any obstacles or misunderstandings between us? Now that would be a mistake. I’m… I’m ready to talk if you are.”

He pulls back and there’s a small smile on his face. “About that. If you can wait until the end of the day, I’ll try to finish up early and we can drive home together. There’s something I want to show you.”

You raise your eyebrows, lips pulling into a grin. “Ooh. Did you get me flowers? Chocolates? Is there a surprise ‘I’m sorry for being such an intolerable grump’ present waiting for me at home?”

He silences you with a steely glower. “There are none of those things, and I definitely don’t feel obliged to go that far. You’ll just have to wait and see.”

“Fine,” you pout. “But I’m only letting you off the hook because I have to get to my photography class soon.”

“Alright. See that you’re back here by 6 o’clock. I should be ready to leave by then.”

“Got it,” you reply. “See you are 6 sharp.”

As you turn to go, he suddenly reaches out and catches your hand, stopping you. Before you can ask what’s wrong, he brushes his lips against your forehead in a feather-light kiss.

“Have a good class,” he says. You have no idea why the simple words make you heart flutter. But they do.

 

 

 

He escorts you to his car after school, spending half the ride in silence before you can’t take it any longer.

“So, what is it you want to show me?” You ask hopefully, but he starts shaking his head before you can even finish getting the words out.

“Really? You can’t wait the 5 minutes between now and when we arrive to find out? Do you really need to know this very second?”

“Not really,” you admit. “But trying to get you to spill the beans is part of the fun.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the corner of his mouth twitch into an almost-smile. He still doesn’t say anything.

You finally arrive at his house and he parks the car, then leads you inside, down the hall to his room where your big fight last night began.

“Is the surprise in the bedroom?” You ask. “Is it a sexy surprise?”

You’re teasing him, but you’re also quite curious

"Yes, and  _n_ _o_.” He says emphatically. “Just come and see for yourself.”

You step into the room, looking around but not seeing anything out of the ordinary. Until you look a little closer.

“Is that…”

You take a step toward his dresser, noticing the picture of Hunt with Spielberg that had been there last night is gone, replaced with the picture of you and your friends that he’d tried to pack away yesterday. Upon further inspection, you see that a couple more of the photos of him with big name celebrities are gone, their frames instead filled with other pictures of yours. There’s even one of the two of you, dressed to the nines and smiling like you don’t have a care in the world, taken at Rachel’s wedding a couple of months ago.

“Thomas…” you say, almost speechless.

“Open the drawer,” he tells you, gesturing to the dresser where you’d dumped your cosmetics last night.

You pull it open to find all your makeup inside, organized neatly by product and size.

“I found a few of my own belongings that I realized were… disposable and took the liberty of clearing them out to accommodate yours,” he admits. “Come, there’s more.”

He leads you into the living room, where you find his bookcases have been reorganized to give you a couple of shelves of your own. The books you’d left on his chair last night have been arranged alphabetically by author. You can’t help but laugh through your surprise.

“You… you did this for me?” You feel like you’re going to start crying again, but this time they’re definitely not tears of sadness.

“…no,” he says thoughtfully, as if considering the reason for the first time himself. “I did this for us, I think. You were right yesterday. A little out of line in the delivery of your argument, but right. This isn’t just my house anymore. I need to learn to share it. And as much as it pains me, if I’m going to do that, then it needs to reflect both of our personalities. Not just mine.”

You notice that he’s placed one of the posters you’d had tacked up in your dorm in a frame and hung it like a painting on the living room wall. If there’s anything that showcases the two of your personalities combined, it’s definitely a $5 poster of Masika placed meticulously inside an expensive-looking frame.

You take a deep breath. “Thank you, Thomas. I… I promise to do the same.”

The two of you share a kiss, and he holds you tight. You return the embrace, pressing your face into his shoulder, breathing in his scent and feeling warm and secure.

“So,” he finally asks. “Are you hungry? Because after you left last night, I found myself without much appetite and there’s a lot of leftover Indian in the refrigerator.”

“The illustrious Professor Hunt eating leftovers? This I’ve gotta see.”

He chuckles dryly. “Waste not, want not. Now come along. I’m ravenous.”

You follow him to the kitchen, heart light and a smile on your face.

It feels good to be home.


	3. Settling In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New Hunt date! New Hunt date! Who else has already played? Spoiler alert: my fic is now super canonically inaccurate. But that's okay because a) I had prepared myself for this eventuality, and b) New Hunt date! New Hunt date!  
> Anyway, it may not compare to the real thing, but I hope you enjoy this chapter. :)

The first week living together is one of the happiest weeks of your life, but also one of the most difficult. Fortunately, since you and Hunt have agreed to calmly discuss and compromise on any problems the two of you encounter while living together, it only gets easier as it goes along.  
For example, you’ve reluctantly agreed to put a stop to your habit of drinking juice straight from the carton. On the other hand, you’ve also gotten Hunt to accept the fact that, after showering, you will wear your towel around the house for about an hour before getting dressed (though, it wasn’t too hard to get him to stop admonishing you about that. You have your suspicions as to why).

Hunt, on the other hand, has finally agreed to stop laundering the bed sheets every single day (“There is literally no point and they’re not even dirty yet,” you tell him) but you’ve come to accept that he just can’t help but spend forever agonizing over what wine to pair with dinner, and that he’ll probably be that way until the day he dies… and that it’s not so bad, because even though you end up eating half an hour late, the wine match is always exquisite.

So there have been a few snags along the road, but you’re happy to find that not only are the two of you working things out, but you’re getting better and more efficient at it.

What follows can only be described as a “Honeymoon Period”. Of course, there are still times when you’re at one another’s throats, exchanging barbs and sarcasm. To be honest, you wouldn’t have it any other way. You love your verbal sparring matches. They keep you sharp, even though you’re pretty sure your exchanges during lectures constantly leave your classmates confused as to whether you’re fighting, broken up, or are just being your usual selves.

Whatever your classmates think, your closest friends are completely clued in to how things are panning out, whether you tell them about it or not. This becomes very evident during your usual weekly business brunch with Ethan, the first Saturday after you move in with Hunt.

“I’ll keep you posted on whether anything changes, but if the network asks them to drop him from their panel, you’re their first pick to take the empty spot. And with the slew of scandals he’s been involved in recently, I have a very good feeling about it…” Ethan grins suavely at you over the rim of his mimosa.

“Well, your good feelings usually turn out to be very accurate.” You savor a bite of your eggs Benedict, enjoying how the creamy hollandaise mixes together with the salty bacon and the perfectly poached egg. Ethan always takes you to the best restaurants.

“So… enough about your burgeoning career. How’s your personal life?” His face is the one of a person who knows a secret. “You definitely look very happy.”

“Is it that obvious?” You flutter your eyelashes and Ethan smirks.

“I’ve got to say, I was a little wary in the beginning. What with you being a rising star, and him getting back into the directing game, both of you are in the media spotlight now. At least your affair--”

“Relationship,” you correct him with a pointed glare and he holds up his hands in surrender.

“Okay, okay. Sorry. At least your relationship came to light under the circumstances it did right before he got back into directing… and right before you made the jump from mostly-unknown to minor celeb, too. Otherwise that would’ve been a scandal and a half. But…” He pauses for a moment, looking at you fondly. “Okay, I’ll admit I was a little worried that the whole student moving in with her professor thing would cause a bit of negative press, but I’ve gotta say, seeing my favorite client look so happy is worth it.”

“Thomas knows how to play the media like a fiddle,” you say with a shrug and a laugh. “I don’t think you need to fret.”

“No one can play the media that well… but the happier you are, the more productive you are, so currently it’s win-win all around. Let’s try to keep it that way,” Ethan says smoothly. “So anyway, asking as your friend rather than your agent… what’s it like living with the one and only Thomas Hunt? I don’t imagine it’s easy.”

Your lips broaden into a smile; the kind reserved only for those who are head-over-heels in love with someone.

“It’s… it’s great, actually. As his student, his manic insistence on perfection and attention to detail is exhausting. But when he’s focusing those traits on our relationship? It’s a totally different story.” You sigh dreamily. Fortunately it’s Ethan and not Holly that you’re talking to, so you’re not met with a gagging noise.

“Are you saying that you enjoy him nitpicking your relationship and everything you do?” Ethan looks amused, but you shake your head.

“Actually, that’s not what happens at all. Since he has a knack for details, he’s always doing little things for me that are so simple but so thoughtful. Like, you know how I got a bad grade on that assignment Professor Singh handed back the other day?”

“You mean the one you forgot about and ended up writing two hours before it was due? What were you expecting? She’s sharp as a knife. You know she’d recognize a last minute job when she sees one.” He cocks an eyebrow at you and you fight not to roll your eyes.

“Anyway, I was in a really bad mood about it all day, and he must’ve picked up on that, because when I got home after school, there was a huge bunch of flowers on the dining room table with a note from him. I think he bought them and snuck them into the house during his lunch break to surprise me.” 

“Aww. And what did the note say?”

“Um, something like… ‘Professor Singh was right to mark you so harshly. Your essay was appalling, and you’re lucky it even scraped a passing grade. Regardless, I prefer to see you smiling, so here’s something to cheer you up. I know you can do better next time.”

“Wow… romantic…?” It sounds more like Ethan’s asking a question than making a comment. “As the creative genius behind both the screenplay and direction of ‘Ruin’, I thought he’d have more of a way with words.”

“He definitely does have a certain way with words…” You laugh, spooning the last of your brunch into your mouth, forgetting your manners and talking around the food. “But it’ll be a cold day in hell before he uses those words to coddle me. I think that was the closest I’m ever going to get.”

“Well, I’m sure you’re dying to get back home to him, so I’d hate to keep you,” Ethan says sweetly.

“Liar. You wouldn’t be planning to let me go anywhere if we hadn’t already finished talking business,” you tease. Ethan is a great friend, but he’s an even better agent and he prefers to leave no stone unturned. 

“Guilty as charged,” he answers, without a hint of guilt on his face. “But we really should get going. There are folks waiting for a seat and the staff look like they’re getting antsy.”

You push your plate away and catch a passing waiter’s eye, signaling for the bill. “Fair enough. You were right, by the way, the eggs Benedict here was amazing.”

“When am I not?” Ethan preens a little. “So, same place next week? Unless I find somewhere better.”

You laugh. “You always do.”

 

When you arrive back home, a little past midday, Hunt is right where you expected he’d be, parked in front of his laptop relying to emails. You peek over his shoulder as he types furiously away.

‘...was the most disappointing pilot episode I have seen since the attempted US adaption of The IT Crowd. In regards to your questions about what I would suggest improving on, and what I thought was done well, I can only say: For improvements, ‘The entire thing’ and for what was well-done, ‘The fact that it did not continue for a second longer than it did’…’

“Wow. Haven’t met your quota yet for number people you need to make cry for the day?” You ask.

“Given the number of incompetent people in Hollywood, I don’t think that’s a quota even I could ever fully meet,” he replies, hitting send and leaning back to massage his temples. “This is just the quickest way for me to feel ever-so-slightly better about those 45 minutes of my life that I’ll never get back.”

“You know an even quicker way to feel better about it?” You pull him up from the desk, ignoring his protests. “Not wasting another 45 minutes of your life being all disapproving about it and instead spending the rest of your day off with your amazing girlfriend, as promised.”

“But being disapproving is what I do best. Besides directing flawless cinema.” He says it with a straight face, but there’s a playful twinkle in his eye.

“Okay, now I know you’re joking, because there’s nothing flawless about being pretentious.” Then before he can get in another word, you smoothly change the subject. “So anyway, remember how you promised that we could make popcorn and then choose one movie to watch each and make it a double feature night?”

“I remember reluctantly consenting to watching a movie of your choice, yes. I don’t remember anything about popcorn, probably because I was so horrified about what I’d just agreed to do that it caused a temporary blackout. You must have caught me in a moment of weakness.”

“No one needs to be weak to agree that popcorn is a good idea.” You guide him by the shoulders into the lounge, and he offers no more resistance. “I got butter flavor and caramel flavor. Pick your poison.”

“Delightful. I’ll get back to you on that, but there’s something I’d like to do first.”

“Oh?” You raise an eyebrow in query, and he reaches out, brushing a thumb along your cheek bone, then sliding it down the length of your jaw. He’s regards you with such warmth and affection that your heart starts to feel a little too full for your ribcage. 

“It’s the first night since you moved in that we having no pressing matters to attend to, and nothing urgent that needs to be done tomorrow,” he says as he threads his fingers through your hair, cupping the back of your head and drawing you to his chest. “I’d like to just be present in this moment with you, at least for a little while.”

You nestle your head in the crook of his shoulder and smile against the collar of his shirt. “I guess we can do that.”

Hunt leads you to the couch, pulling you into his lap and going in for a kiss, fingers still tangled in your hair. The kiss is deep but not hurried, mouths sliding together languid but purposefully. Your hands creep down to the hem of his button-down sweater, then slide underneath, trailing along smooth skin, and he lets out a low hum against your lips.

“Keep that up and there won’t be any popcorn or movies tonight,” he warns you. 

“Better stop, then. I didn’t swing by the store on the way home for nothing.” You give him a playful kiss on the tip of his nose. “And I’ve been craving caramel corn for weeks. I don’t know if I can wait another day.”

You pull back in time to see him roll his eyes. “Guess I’ll have to have my way with you later, if you absolutely insist on choosing popcorn over me.”

“I can’t speak for every woman in the world, but the majority of us will always choose food over men. You’re pretty great, but even you would be no match for a perfectly moist red velvet cupcake.” You give him one last kiss in consolation, then slide off his lap and go about hooking your laptop up to his TV. “So, what movie has the celebrated Thomas Hunt decided worthy of his selection tonight?” You ask him, loading up Netflix. 

“Citizen Kane,” he says, his tone decisive. “If I recall correctly, you mentioned that you’ve never seen it. And as both my girlfriend and one of my most promising students, I’m honor-bound to make sure that you watch all the American greats before you graduate.”

“No complaints here. Just try your hardest not to turn our movie night into a lecture.”

He chuckles, easing himself up from the couch. “I’ll do my best, but I’m not going to make any promises I’m not sure I can keep.” He pulls you away from the laptop. “Here, let me do the honors of queuing up the movie. You can go and make that popcorn you’re so excited about. I believe I’ll have the butter.”

“Can’t resist the classics, huh,” you tease him. “Okay, I’ll be right back.”

You prepare the popcorn, almost surprised that he doesn’t have some kind of elitist vendetta against the microwave variety, and pour it into two separate bowls. Inhaling deeply, the mixing scents of butter and caramel fill your nose, smelling just like a movie theatre. Popcorn was definitely a good idea, you think, carrying them back to the lounge.

He looks up when you walk in. “I’m ready when you are. And I feel like I’m going to regret asking, but what movie have you chosen for us tonight?”

“One of my all-time-favorites; Groundhog Day.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I’m surprised. Not an entirely terrible choice. Well done.”

You smirk, placing the two bowls on the coffee table while he finishes setting up the movies. “You should already know that I’m full of surprises. Although I’d better warn you that one of my other all-time-favorites is the 2008 film adaption of ‘Speed Racer’, which I already know you’re not going to be as impressed by. So don’t go judging my taste based on just one movie.”

Hunt actually laughs. “Duly noted. Shall we begin then?”

You snuggle up beside him on the couch and hand him the bowl of buttered popcorn. “Let’s.”

A month of domestic almost-bliss ensues; every Saturday night is now spent together on the couch, under a blanket watching back-to-back movies. “Wine Wednesdays” also become a thing (the idea was his, but the name was coined by you), when the two of you will crack open a couple of bottles of wine and enjoying them with a plate of good cheeses, pickles and cured meats.

You’re feeling on top of the world as you head for another of your weekly catch-ups with Ethan, and this time he’s promised that he has “a very lucrative acting proposal” for you.  
You start to get an inkling of what it may be when you walk into the restaurant the two of you promised to meet at and find that Ethan isn’t alone.

“Chris!” You beam as you draw closer to the table, and he rises to greet you.

Chris Winters, A-list actor and heartthrob, reaches out and clasps your hand briefly. “Hey, it’s been too long. How’ve you been?”

You slide into the booth next to Ethan, noting that he looks particularly pleased with himself.

“I’ve been… pretty amazing, really. Maybe not as amazing as you, though. Saw you were nominated for Sexiest Man of the Year. That’s got to feel good.”

Chris laughs, but rubs the back of his head, looking abashed. “It’s an honor… kind of an embarrassing honor, but still an honor.”

“Glad to see you’ve kept yourself humble.” You shoot a glance at Ethan. “So… I take it that this ‘lucrative acting proposal’ has something to do with Chris?”

“That’s why you’re my client. Got it in one.” Ethan winks at you. “Care to do the honors of explaining, Mr. Winters?”

Chris nods, eyes lighting up as he leans in to tell you all about the offer.

“Yeah, I was approached recently about taking the leading role in an upcoming summer blockbuster. A rom-com this time. Anyway, they said they wanted a fresh face for the leading lady, and as I was reading the script I realized that she was practically you.”

“Wait, wait…” You hold up your hands. “You’re asking me to star across from you in one of this year’s summer blockbusters?”

“Yeah… they were a little hesitant at first, but when I explained that you were the driving force behind Clash at Sunset, Permanent Wound and Centaurus Lost, the executives were much more receptive.”

Ethan nudges you with his elbow. “So… how’s that for a lucrative proposal?”

You roll your eyes at him and nudge back. “Sounds like a lucrative proposal that Chris just dropped into your lap, but I agree.”

“That may be true, but I’m sure you’ll be giving me less of that attitude once I negotiate your contract, because this is going to be big.”

Chris looks pleased, leaning towards you across the table. “So you’re in?”

“I’d like to take a look at the screenplay first, but as long as it’s decent, I’m 95% sure that I’m all in on this,” you assure him. “This could be my chance to become a household name.”

“You’re a rising name in the industry thanks to your work producing so many successful films, but the average person still has no idea who you are. Starring in a big blockbuster as the leading lady, not to mention opposite Chris Winters, would definitely change that,” Ethan agrees. “This would definitely be a smart move for your career.”

“Well, it’s good to have you on board. I’ll have someone send you the screenplay as soon as possible. I know we work well together, so here’s hoping you like it.” Chris says, as he rises smoothly from his seat. “Anyway, I’d love to stay and talk, but I’ve got an interview in half an hour and you know what L.A traffic is like. Hope I’ll hear from you soon.”

“Oh, you will,” Ethan reassures him with a suave smile. “Believe me.”

After Chris leaves, you take his seat, sitting across from Ethan who steeples his fingers and rests his chin on them, waiting for your response.

“Okay, so this is pretty amazing,” you admit. “I’ve mostly been involved in the production side of things during my career so far, but you know my passion is for acting. I’m glad I’m finally getting a shot at the big leagues.”

Ethan’s happiness looks genuine, and only a little to do with the 15% he’s going to get from the presumably fat paycheck after it’s all over. “Any reservations? Or are you ready for me to go all in and negotiate you the contract of a lifetime?”

You look down at the table, fiddling with the lunch menu in front of you but not really seeing it.

“Nothing in particular. Well… nothing that’ll stop me from taking the project on, as long as the script isn’t totally ridiculous.”

“I imagine Chris’ agent would have strongly dissuaded him from signing on if the screenplay had been that bad, so I’d say you have nothing to worry about,” Ethan reassures you. “So what are these unparticular reservations you have that definitely won’t stop us from signing on to this amazing movie?”

You snicker. “I already know what a huge opportunity this would be for me. No need to sell it.”

“Selling things is kind of my job. It’s hard to turn it off. So, let me hear it. Anything your wonder agent can’t fix for you?”

“Not unless you have a time machine,” you laugh. “No, it’s nothing to worry about. It’s just… well, you know about the history between Chris and me.”

A knowing look crosses Ethan’s face. “Ahhh… right. I should’ve guessed. You’re not sure about starring as the romantic lead opposite your ex-boyfriend.”

You nod. “Yeah… I mean, I’m going to do it. It’s not like Chris and I are on bad terms or anything, but…”

You think about how he’d stopped trusting you so easily during the incident with Megan Moore, then turned around and proposed to you on your first date after making up. You remember his hopeful face, lit up by the lights of the Eiffel tower, contrasting sharply with the shock on your own face and the sinking feeling in your stomach. You think about how you just hadn’t been able – hadn’t wanted – to say yes, not when your relationship was still so damaged. 

You shake your head, trying to get a handle on your thoughts before they decided to go running wild on their own at 100 miles per hour.

“Right.” Ethan, as both your agent and friend, is of course privy to everything that happened in France, and so there’s no need to explain it to him. “After you said no to that diamond ring, the two of you decided to take a break, and then you fell in love with your grumpy professor and the rest is history. History that could get a little awkward if you have to pretend to be in love on set.”

“I mean, we are friends again,” you insist. “There are no hard feelings. When we were on our break and I first started feeling something for Thomas, I immediately told Chris there was someone else. I don’t know if he knows who it is… though thanks to the tabloids he probably has his suspicions.”

Ethan smirks as he gestures to the waiter. “I’d assume so. You and your beau are the worst kept secret in all of Hollywood.”

The waiter appears at your table and you hastily scan the menu and make your choice. After he leaves, you turn back to Ethan.

“Anyway, what happened with me and Chris is history now, and we’re both professionals. We won’t let it affect our work.”

“As someone who has seen you play nice with every single member of the Stone family, I can tell you right now, that didn’t worry me in the slightest.”

You try to repress a snort. He’s right. Working with your ex-boyfriend who you’ve made up with and are on good terms with sounded a hundred times simpler than working with a family who had all separately tried to blackmail and backstab you on different occasions.

“Well, like I said. It’s not exactly a reservation that would keep me from taking the job. It’s more of a ‘this could be better’. But who would I be to turn down a role in a major Hollywood blockbuster when I’m still nothing more than a mere university student?” You wiggle your eyebrows at him and he grins back fondly.

“You would be a nobody,” he says helpfully, and you reach over and swat him on the arm.

“You’re lucky I like you.” You shoot him a fake glare, but his expression doesn’t change.

“You’re lucky you like me too.”

 

When you get back from your lunch with Ethan, Hunt has already set up the living room for your usual Saturday double movie feature. He really is a creature of habit, you think to yourself, a little amused.

“How was your meeting?”

“Business lunch, not meeting. Nothing that formal,” you remind him. “But wait until I tell you about what that big opportunity turned out to be. The one Ethan mentioned but was being all secretive about.”

“Was it all he hyped it up to be, or did it end up being a disappointment like the majority of things in Hollywood?” Hunt asks, and you can’t help but laugh aloud at his totally jaded view on the world.

“Thomas…” You chide him gently. “Learn to be a little more positive.”

“I’ve found positivity to be directly correlated to disappointment, so I think I’ll have to decline,” he says neatly, “From the looks of things though, that wasn’t true of today.”

“Nope,” you give him a smug grin. “You’re looking at the co-star of Chris Winters in this summer’s biggest romantic comedy.”

Usually it’s very difficult to surprise Thomas Hunt, but it looks like you manage to do it this time.

“Oh!” He says, then clears his throat. “I see… Mr. Winters requested you specifically, I presume?”

As usual, he was already wise to the situation, as expected of one of the former biggest (and now re-emerging) names in Hollywood.

“Yeah, he said when he was reading the screen play, the character of the female lead was practically me, and he recommended me to the executives immediately.”

“Interesting… so the female lead must be strong-willed, narcissistic and entitled, I take it?”

“And presumably smoking hot,” you say with a sly smile. Hunt rolls his eyes.

“Presumably. This is Hollywood, after all.” He pauses for a moment. “But… yes, I believe congratulations are in order. It’s not every day a student of mine--”

“Or girlfriend,” you interrupt.

“Yes. Not every day a student or girlfriend of mine is chosen to star in a high-budget, big name film. I can’t say whether or not the movie is worth starring in artistically until I read the screenplay myself, but it does sound like an excellent opportunity to further your career.”

You look at him fondly. “So you don’t mind that I’m going to be working on a romance film with… you know…”

As someone with whom you have a romantic, personal and professional relationship with, Hunt is well aware of your past with Chris, including the Megan incident (which was so high profile that really, there’s no one who doesn’t know) to his proposal at the Eiffel tower.

Hunt looks thoughtful for a moment. “No. No, why would I mind? It’s just work.”

“Even though it’s almost 100% certain that there’s going to be some kind of tabloid rumors about me and Chris getting back together?” You ask, sidling up to him. He strokes your hair.

“Yes, but I’m dating you, not the media’s fantasy idea of you. I don’t care what they say or what kind of intentionally incriminating photos the snap of you at some opportune time. I trust you. Our relationship is based on nothing if not trust.”

You start to feel a tear come to your eye and fight not to let it fall. You’re reminded of how things went with Chris – how he was so quick to lose faith in you, didn’t make any effort to get your side of the story or contact you. And now here’s Hunt, telling you that no matter what the media tries to say, he trusts you, and only you.

“I… you…” You struggle to think of something to say, but nothing profound comes, and so all you end up replying with is, “You’re a pretty great boyfriend.”

For once, he doesn’t tease you. “Thank you. I am, aren’t I?”

“So you don’t mind that I’m more-than-likely going to have to kiss him for work?” You ask coyly, and he sighs at you.

“Kissing on camera is one of the least romantic experiences in the world, and I know this from experience. If anything, it’s more likely to douse the flame than rekindle it.” His eyes narrow. “So you can stop trying to make me jealous. It’s not working.”

You snigger. “Okay, you caught me on that last one. But seriously, thanks, Thomas. Some guys wouldn’t be as understanding.”

Hunt shrugs. “Some guys think they own their girlfriends. But I’ve never wanted anything to get in the way of my work, so I hardly have the right to disrupt yours. I would admittedly be less accepting if you were kissing him for fun, but I have a feeling that’s not something I need to worry about.”

You smooth his hair back from the sides of his face, black locks brushing soft against your fingers.

“Never,” you promise. “Not with Chris, not with anyone.”

 

The studio emails you the screenplay and you spend your Sunday reading it with Hunt. It’s the story of an ex-Olympic gymnast who retires at the height of his career due to a debilitating injury and falls into a dark depression, only to become captivated by the passion and talent of an up and coming female gymnast and deciding to become her trainer.  
Hunt grudgingly agrees that the screenplay isn’t bad… in fact, when he learns that it’s about a mentor-trainee relationship, he practically laughs in your face.

“Looks like you’re doomed to be in a teacher-student romance even when you’re on-set.” He sounds almost smug, and you can’t resist punching him in the arm.

“At least it sounds like the protagonist in this movie has a better temperament than my real teacher boyfriend,” you shoot back.

“Yes, he’s also far more vapid, as expected of the male lead in a Hollywood romantic comedy.” Hunt completely brushes off your insult. “But I can see why the female lead reminded Mr. Winters of you. And… I can see other ways she’s like you that I expect Mr. Winters isn’t so familiar with.”

He gazes across the table at you fondly, a smile playing on his lips.

“If you call me narcissistic again, I swear to god…” You crack your knuckles and send him a meaningful look. “Because it takes one to know one.”

“No, although she does seem to have a lot of your unfounded confidence. But it’s not so much her personality as how she affects those around her.” He regards you thoughtfully. “When we first met, as you know, I was retired from directing because of the Silver Circle. I don’t hate teaching but, as you know, directing is my true passion.”

“That and making people cry,” you add. He ignores you completely.

“I wrote so many unfinished screenplays between leaving the industry and now… screenplays I never had the inspiration to finish because I knew they wouldn’t come to fruition. But… when I first saw you, I saw someone with passion… with potential. I saw someone who reminded me of myself, although with less refined taste, I must add.”

“Can’t give a compliment without adding a few thorns, huh,” you raise an eyebrow at him.

“I don’t want to over-inflate your ego anymore than it already is. It could burst,” he says. “But I digress. That first day when you walked into my class late and then refused to leave… oh, I was angry and appalled by your attitude and lack of respect. But I also felt inspired. I don’t think I ever told you, but I went home that night with the insuppressible urge to write, my fingers itching to put pen to paper, to run across a keyboard and put words onto a blank page…”

His eyes grow distant as he speaks, and for once you dare not interrupt him.

“So I see a little of our relationship between these two characters, and I see how this girl’s passion inspires those around her, very much like you do.” He seems to snap back to reality all of a sudden, focusing on you again. “I have no doubt that you will bring this character to life in ways that no A-list actresses could. You may even outshine Mr. Winters… but we’ll see.”

You smile at him, cool and confident.

“Well, I do love a good challenge.”


	4. Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's just gone midnight here, which means it's Sunday, which means I'm allowed to update now.  
> I'd just like to thank the people who took the time out of their day to leave comments on this story. :) Thank you for your encouragement and your kind words. They mean a lot.

You’ve been on a tight shooting schedule before, but despite that, not to mention Hunt and Chris’ warnings about what to expect, you’re still not entirely prepared for the sheer intensity of starring in a Hollywood blockbuster. It’s a little different to being the producer as well; when you’d been producing you hadn’t needed to be on-set 100% of the time, but as one of the stars, most of the scenes can’t be filmed without you. You have to take a special leave of absence from school (most of the faculty doesn’t mind; a student hand-picked to star in a major summer release is just the kind of publicity the school wants) and you and Hunt aren’t able to spend as much time together anymore.

Tonight is another one of those late nights on set, and when you slide into bed beside Hunt, trying your best not to rouse him, it’s almost 2 o’clock.

“Hey…” His sleepy voice wafts up from the ocean of blankets and you wriggle closer to press a kiss to his cheek. “What god awful hour of the morning is it?”

“1:50ish,” you say. “Sorry for waking you up.”

He groggily drapes an arm over your chest and pulls you closer. “I’ll reluctantly sacrifice a little sleep if it means I get to see you. How was work?”

His voice, huskier than usual and thick with sleep, is comforting and welcome after a long day and you return his embrace, burying your face between his shoulder and neck.

“Good. Exhausting. We’re making progress. But with filming starting to wind down soon, we’re going to have to start promotional work too. Feels like it never ends.”

“Lucky this is your dream job, then,” he replies with no sympathy, although he does gently stroke your hair, which you suppose counts for something.

“How about you? How’s school going? I miss staring at your face for hours a day, even if you do tend to drone on sometimes.”

Hunt ignores the slight. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Although Ms. Stone has taken to bringing in all the unflattering tabloids she can find featuring you, and loudly discussing them with her friends before class starts.”

“Oh god…” you roll your eyes. “Do I even want to know what’s in them?”

“They’re all the same, really. Mostly about you and Chris Winters and whether or not you’re rekindling your relationship. Where you’ve been seen together. What you were doing. I believe she’s bringing them in for my benefit.” You can hear the agitation in his voice. It makes you worry a little.

“You do know there’s nothing _actually_ going on between us, right?” You slip your hand under his pajamas to stroke the skin of his hip. “The whole, ‘Honey, I was working late’ isn’t an excuse or anything, I swear. The schedule is just crazy.”

“You needn’t explain yourself to me. I think I know even more intimately than you how time consuming it is to create a film.” He exhales softly into your hair. “And more importantly, I trust you. I just don’t appreciate that someone is going out of their way to try and damage that trust. If it weren’t for Ms. Stone’s antics, I would be able to ignore those tabloids completely.”

You nuzzle his jawbone, feeling a wave of relief at his answer. “Oh, come on. Even _I_ check out what they’re saying about me in the magazines sometimes, and some of the pictures are _very_ flattering. Don’t tell me you aren’t interested in seeing those smoking hot pictures of your girlfriend.”

“I’m not,” Hunt protests. “Not when I have the real thing coming home to me every night… even if it is at 2:00 in the morning.”

“Even though I’m coming home frazzled and sweaty with patches of stage makeup still on my face because I was too tired to wash it off properly?” You prop your head up on a hand and peer at his silhouette, a smirk only just visible on his face in the dark room.

“I’ll take the real you in whatever form you come in, even if you do smell like day old sweat.”

“Gee, thanks. We’ve been spending so little time together lately I forgot what a romantic you can be,” you say, giving his shoulder a playful shove. He catches your hand and kisses along your knuckles.

“Get some rest,” is all he says in reply. “You have to be up early again tomorrow. If you go to sleep now, you can still get a solid 5 hours.”

“Mm.” That’s one idea you can agree with. You cuddle close to him again, nestling your head in the crook of his shoulder, and he loosely wraps an arm around your waist. “Make sure I don’t sleep through the alarm again.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He brushes his lips across your forehead. “Goodnight.”

 

Although you and Hunt don’t see very much of each other due to your conflicting work schedules, you’re constantly in contact – as much as you can be, anyway. He pretends that the barrage of texts and pictures you send annoy him, but you can tell that he secretly likes it; he keeps replying to them, after all.

Whenever you get a break (or even just a “take five!”), you send him paragraph long texts about what’s happening on set, and you haven’t missed a day of sending him a snap of the catered lunch with added witty commentary (although yesterday’s was more of a lament – “I’ve encountered rocks softer than these bagels. Just… why?”).

Today, your lunch break is a little longer and Chris invites you to join him at a modest diner down the road from the studio. According to him, it’s supposed to have really good burgers.

You settle into a booth together and whip out your phone while Chris is perusing the menu, sending a text to Hunt.

_‘Getting lunch offset with Chris. Want to bet how long it’ll take before another article about ’Hollywood Heartthrob and Up-and-Coming Student Starlet Have Romantic Meal Together’ surfaces?’_

You’re looking over your own menu when your phone buzzes. It’s a text from Hunt. Your lunch breaks must have finally coincided for once, you think, as an irrepressible smile crosses your face.

_‘That’s entirely dependent on the kind of establishment you’re dining in. Care to fill me in?’_

_‘Just a typical American diner. I’m thinking about getting a burger, so you know there will be sauce on my clothes before we’ve even finished eating.’_

His response comes quick.

_‘I’m betting approximately an hour and a half, while they try to figure out how to put a coherent spin on a story about why billionaire movie star Chris Winters, who could afford to take an entire soccer team out to the highest rated Michelin star restaurant in L.A, plans to woo his new belle with lunch at a run of the mill burger place.’_

You smother a giggle, then look up to find Chris eyeing you expectantly. You realize he’s ready to order.

“Oops, sorry about that. Well, since you spoke so highly of the burgers here, guess I’m honor-bound to get one, huh. Preferably the one with the most cheese.”

Chris grins at you with his trademark easy-going charm. “And this is why I like you.”

He signals the waitress and places your orders. While he does, you reply to Hunt.

_‘I’m betting three hours. Haven’t spotted any paps yet, but we’ll see. Loser has to do the laundry for a week.’_

“So,” Chris’ voice causes your head to snap up, tearing your gaze from the screen. “Not too long until filming wraps up now, huh? How did you like starring in your first blockbuster?”

“Oh…” you pocket your phone. “It’s mostly everything I dreamed it would be. Hard work. Exhausting. Enormous budget.”

“Sleep depriving?” Chris shoots you a knowing look. “I’ve seen the circles under your eyes before you get makeup done. It takes a while to get used to.”

You nod, looking pained. “Mankind was not made to last on a weekly quota of 28 hours of sleep. I mean, it’s not like I haven’t pulled all-nighters for projects at school, but months of it? Ongoing? Now that I’m not accustomed to.”

“Yeah, that’s why I’ve had my fair share of nights just sleeping on set. Means I didn’t waste time I could’ve been sleeping on a commute back home.”

The two of you discuss the movie until your burgers arrive. When the waitress sets them down in front of you, your eyes widen.

“Okay, so I think you neglected to mention that this thing was going to be the same size as my head. I didn’t even know they made buns this big.”

Chris laughs. “You can give me anything you don’t finish. I can pack away quite a lot into this manly physique. Plus, I didn’t have time for breakfast today.”

You pull your phone out again and snap a picture, then notice a new text from Hunt. You open it.

_‘I will make no such bets. I’m merely hazarding a guess as to how long it will take a new story to break about you, given your current choice of restaurant. Also, I will have you know that I’ve already been doing the laundry for the last two months because I’m aware of your hectic work schedule.’_

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling again. Ignoring his message, your send him the photo of your burger.

_‘Can you believe the size of this thing? Right now, I can’t tell you who is going to emerge from this victorious; me or the burger.’_

You put your phone away again and catch Chris looking at you with a slight wrinkle between his eyes.

“You’re sure on that thing a lot,” he says, gesturing to your phone, and you suddenly feel guilty. You’ve been paying more attention to your screen than the actual person in front of you.

“Sorry about that,” you apologize. “I just… I don’t get to see Thomas that much during the day, so I want to make sure we stay in contact. I didn’t mean to ignore you. I’ll try to keep it to a minimum.”

Chris grins at you again, but it looks forced. “You really care about him, huh.”

A faint blush crosses your cheeks beneath your makeup, and you stare down at your plate with what might be a look of longing on your face. And it’s nothing to do with your lunch. “I… we’ve been through a lot. I want to make sure this works.”

Chris doesn’t say anything, but the wrinkling of his brow on his otherwise immaculate face gives away that he’s deep in thought.

Finally, he speaks. “You’re a good woman. Times like this, I really wish I …” He trails off, combing a hand through his hair and exhaling harshly. “Never mind.” Another forced-looking grin. “You know, I was just as surprised as anyone to hear that you were dating one of the most notoriously critical names in the business… not to mention living with him.”

“Not to mention that he’s my professor,” you add.

“Well… yeah. There’s that, too,” Chris agrees, taking a bite of his burger. He chews thoughtfully, then continues after swallowing. “But to be honest, that’s not what surprised me the most. I mean, I’ve never worked with him myself, but I’ve worked with people who have, and well… he and you are just so… different.”

The edge of your mouth quirks. “Opposites attract.”

“They must,” Chris says with a shrug. “I mean, you’re just so… you’re so _positive_ and bright and cheerful. You can light up a whole room with your smile, and you always stay optimistic even in the most adverse circumstances.”

The quirk of your mouth turns into a full-on smirk. “Keep talking, Chris, I do love having my ego stroked.”

He laughs, eyes wrinkling around the edges, and shakes his head fondly. “Doesn’t count if it’s true.” His expression suddenly becomes somber. “But Hunt… he just seems like your polar opposite. He’s so… well, not _negative,_ per se, but he’s so critical. There’s this permanent scowl on his face, and he’s so quick to point out the worst in people.”

You open your mouth to argue, but Chris continues quickly.

“I mean, I know he’s not all bad. I’ve seen his work. And if _you_ like him… well, that says something. It’s just, when you and I were still… together…” His voice hitches on the word a little. “You were always going on about how mean he was, how unfair he was, and would it kill him to say something nice for once… I guess it’s just hard for me to imagine you together after that.”

You can’t help but chuckle softly. “I guess I _was_ always saying stuff like that, wasn’t I.” You shrug. “I must have grown up.”

Chris swallows audibly and then his grin is suddenly back, still looking fragile around the edges. “But hey, what do I know? You’re living with the guy. You know what’s going on between the two of you better than I do.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh, I should hope so, Chris. Otherwise that’s some grade-A stalker work you’re putting in there.”

He laughs a little self-consciously. “So, how about these burgers? Pretty great, huh? Was I right or was I right?”

You nod, a little more enthusiastically than you’d intended too, grateful that he’s changed the topic. If you’re totally honest with yourself, this one matter that you’d prefer not to pursue with Chris right now. Or ever.

 

You finally get a rare half-day away from filming – Chris has a few scenes to reshoot alone, in which his character comes to term with his demons and finally allows himself to admit his true feelings for your character, beyond as pupil and someone to vicariously live his dreams through. Since the movie is almost over and about to enter post production, you use your time off to visit campus and collect the necessary paperwork for the return from your leave of absence.

It’s a gorgeous spring day, sun out with fluffy white clouds dotting the pale blue sky. You decide to take a leisurely stroll around campus while waiting for Hunt to finish with work for the day; you’ve agreed to go home together, maybe stop for dinner on the way, but you have a few hours to kill before he’ll be done. You’re just thinking about maybe stepping off campus for a bit when you run into Lisa, heading back to the pop star dorm after a lecture.

“Hey, stranger.” She slow-jogs over to you, waving a hand in greeting. “Long time no see. Heard the movie’s going well. Congrats.”

“Yeah, we’ve practically finished. As amazing as the experience was, I’m so ready for a break.”

“I hear you there, sister.” Lisa slings an arm around your shoulders. “I could not wait for the between-seasons breaks when I was still doing Lisa Mermaid.”

“But everyone has been really professional, so the only complaint I really have is that it’s just been so tiring.”

“Mmm. And how has working with Chris been?” Lisa gives you a knowing look. “I’ve seen all the tabloids. Well, not that I was trying. Bianca keeps bringing them into class and yapping about them with Jenni and Lance until Hunt snaps at her.”

“So I heard,” you reply dryly. “Thomas told me that she’s doing it to get to him.”

Lisa makes a noise of disgust. “Yeah. She would. I think she still can’t get over the fact that not only are _you_ dating the hottest teacher on campus, but that she also couldn’t get away with blackmailing the two of you over it. Typical spoilt diva. Hey, wanna hang out at my place for a while if you’re not doing anything?”

“Sure,” you accept, and Lisa leads you across campus towards the pop star dorm.

“Also, don’t think I’m letting you off the hook that easily. You still haven’t told me what it’s been like working with Chris despite all the history you guys have.”

 

It’s not surprising that she’s so interested; although Addison is your best friend, Lisa knows better than anyone the ins and outs of your old relationship with Chris. She’d been the one to help you sort out the scandal with Megan, and so she’d also ultimately been the one you’d first told about Chris’ proposal and your subsequent rejection of it right afterwards.

“Well, I can definitely assure you that none of the tabloid articles are true,” you explain. “Although, sometimes… no, never mind.”

Lisa pauses from fiddling with the lock to her dorm room and wheels around, fixing you with an intense stare. “Wait, wait, hold up, don’t tell me you’ve still got feelings for Chris Winters while you’re shacking up with Professor Hot. Let me guess, long hours on set together have started to rekindle that old flame and now you’re stuck in an epic love triangle.”

She finally notices you staring back at her like she’s insane.

“Or not. Okay, so what’s actually going on? You don’t get to ‘never mind’ your way out of this one.” She shoots you a wry grin, arms folded in front of her chest. “No one dangles juicy gossip in front of Lisa Valentine’s face and then snatches it away. You’re telling me everything. Now.”

You look around furtively. “Okay, okay. Don’t scream it to the world though. This isn’t just about me; it’s about the university’s most coveted professor and one of the biggest heartthrob actors of our time. That’s the kind of juicy gossip everyone wants to know.”

“Okay, got it.” Lisa turns the key in her look and swings the door open, gesturing for you to enter. “We need to talk somewhere more private. After you.”

Lisa’s room is a shambles, and you bite back a chuckle, remembering what your dorm looked like before you moved in with Hunt and were forced to become neater, or face the consequences. You gingerly sit down on the sofa, sweeping aside a couple of magazines and an empty packet of potato chips to make room for yourself.

Lisa sits down on a cushion on the floor, looking up at you expectantly.

“Okay. We’re in private. Now, tell me everything.”

You sigh, but know it’s no use. Lisa’s like a dog with a bone when it comes to think kind of thing. The harder you pull away, the tighter she’ll clamp on.

“Alright. There’s nothing much to tell, to be honest. It’s just I’m getting some… vibes from him, you know.”

“Sexy vibes?” Lisa asks, and you throw a pillow at her. She just catches it.

“No! Nothing like that,” you hasten to explain. “I don’t know, I could be imagining it, but sometimes it feels like he hasn’t moved on. Whenever I mention Thomas, Chris’ smile starts to look all stiff. And sometimes he starts to sound all nostalgic before cutting himself off and changing the topic. It’s happened a few times now.”

Lisa’s eyes flash and she looks a little too excited for your liking. You’d forgotten just quite how much she enjoyed gossip.

“Wow, that means he’s been holding a torch for you for, what, how many months?” Her voice gets low, conspiratorial. “You think he’s going to act on it?”

You shake your head. If he’d wanted to make a move on you, he would’ve done it by now. There’s no ‘right time’ he could be waiting for to spring that confession on you; not when he knows all about your relationship with Hunt and how well it’s going. There will never be a ‘right time’.

“I don’t think so. Chris is a good guy. He’s not the home-wrecker type. Even if he does feel a little jealous.” You shrug. “It definitely wouldn’t be good for his clean-cut image. Everyone sees him as the hero, which is part of why he got typecast for so long.”

Lisa looks critical. “I dunno. Seems like he’s pretty stuck on you. If it’d been me who’d bought you a giant rock, taken you to Paris and then gotten rejected at the top of the Eiffel tower, I would just be like… good riddance.” She pauses, grinning at you sardonically. “No offence or anything. But I definitely wouldn’t be going to friendly after-work dinners with you.”

“None taken. But you and Chris are very different people, Lisa.”

Lisa nods. “Don’t have to tell me that. Personally, I think if anything happens or not will come down to whether his ‘good guy’ morals are stronger than his fear of losing you to Hunt forever.”

“Heh,” you let out a short chuckle. “You sure know how to make things dramatic.”

“Yeah.” Lisa doesn’t deny it. “Comes in handy in this business.”

She’s probably just being paranoid, you think, or maybe watching too many movies. Something that comes with the trade. Either way, you’re pretty sure you have nothing to worry about with Chris. 99% sure, at least.

 

After two and a half long months, your cast and crew finally complete filming at about 10:30pm on a Thursday night. The director announces that the wrap party will be scheduled for Saturday night, when you’re all awake enough to enjoy it. The cast and crew are in full agreement, most of them looking like they’d rather drag themselves home and hibernate for 24 hours rather than party the night away. It’d been a tight schedule.

A couple of younger, more chipper members, however, are keen to go out and celebrate. The two girls who’d played the roles of your teammates in the movie, Monique Williams and Stacy Ng, grab you before you can go anywhere and practically beg you into coming along. The three of you had grown quite close during filming and after sending Hunt a quick message to let him know what was happening, you decide to accept.

“You’re coming too, right Chris? A pre-wrap party wouldn’t be complete without the star of the movie,” Stacy wheedles, and Chris lets out a good-natured laugh.

“I guess you’re right.” He smiles at you. “And how could I say no to such good company?”

What Lisa had said to you the other day at the dorms flits through your mind and even without being able to see it, you know the smile you give him in return is a little weak.

Your fellow cast members choose a slightly high-end bar with a VIP area to assure no paparazzi or overly zealous fans can interrupt the small celebration. Monique pops a bottle of champagne and you all toast to a job well done. You relish in the crisp flavor and the way the bubbles tickle your mouth, and soon you have a good buzz going. After a couple of hours, some of your party take off home, and the remainder of you relocate to a slightly cozier bar, chatting over beers and reminiscing about funny moments on set.

Eventually it’s just Chris and you left, tucked into a booth in the shop. Your cheeks are flushed from the alcohol and you’re in high spirits.

“You know, Chris,” you say, slurring slightly, “I’m really glad that you asked me to star in this movie with you. I learned so much, and I had such a great time. I owe you.”

“Oh, s’nothing.” He waves it off, eyes twinkling. He’s slurring worse than you, and you giggle.

“You might wanna slow down,” you warn him. “Don’t party too hard before the real party. You’ll just end up going from one hangover to another.”

“Yeah, but… I’m having fun.” He cocks his head, smiling helplessly. “I always have fun with you.”

You nod. “Yeah. I have fun with you too. I’m really glad we could still be friends after the whole… you know. Paris thing.”

“Yeah, that…” Chris laughs, and while he still looks happy, it sounds a little lost. “That was… hard to bounce back from. Not saying I didn’t deserve it… but it was hard. Hell, if you’ll let me be honest with you, I’m not sure I’m completely over it.” Then he adds in a smaller voice, which you barely catch, “Or you.”

You pretend you didn’t hear it. “I’m sorry, Chris.”

“No.” He holds up a hand. “You did what you had to. You had every right. I think I was just dreaming a little. I screwed everything up.”

He sighs, then slumps against you, the alcohol obviously starting to get to him.

You put a comforting hand on his knee. “No, you were… you were great. We both made some mistakes, had some bad luck and the outcome… just happened to end up like this.”

Chris’ hand creeps on top of yours and you feel your face grow redder, embarrassment mixing with alcohol. You rack your brains, trying to figure out how to pull your hand away without hurting him further.

“You’re so amazing. Whatever you say, I still blame myself 100% for letting you go. If only I’d…”

He’s silent for a long time and you wonder for a moment if he’s fallen asleep. You turn your head, and find yourself face to face with him, and he’s watching you, his eyes glossy. Your breath hitches. Too close. Almost close enough that…

Chris sighs again. “I think… losing you is the biggest regret of my life. I just wish…”

And then suddenly he’s leaning in and you can’t stop it and his lips are on yours before you can react. The kiss is chaste, but you hardly feel it because suddenly there’s a rushing in your ears and your heart rate skyrockets. You pull back abruptly, knocking over a half empty glass of beer, and it spills all over the table and the menus.

“Shit!” You curse, and Chris pulls back too, suddenly looking guilty.

“Oh, god, I’m so… here, let me…”

You just sit there dumbly as he tries to mop up the mess on the table best he can with a handful of napkins and inhibited fine motor skills. Eventually a staff member comes over and cleans it up for you. When they go to leave, you ask for the bill.

“I… should probably go now,” you say, and though you speak haltingly, your words have a sense of finality to them.

Chris nods, unable to meet your eyes. “I’m so sorry, that was so stupid of me. Anyone could’ve seen that right now, and you and Hunt… agh, I’m sorry. That was… damn, what a stupid lapse in judgment.”

You smile, tight-lipped. “Don’t worry, then windows are all blacked out, and we’re basically the only patrons, not to mention we’re tucked into this tiny corner booth. You picked the best time to have a stupid lapse in judgment. No cameras around here.”

He chuckles. It’s kind of dry and tinged with an edge of self-loathing. “There’s no good time for a lapse of judgment like that. I hope this doesn’t ruin our friendship. I swear, nothing like this will ever happen again.”

You can’t help the sigh that escapes your lips. “Yeah… you should probably make sure it doesn’t. Look, after we pay, I’d better get going. It’s past 2 and I don’t want Thomas to worry.”

“Let me pay,” Chris rushes to assure you. “It’s the least I can do after… well, everything.”

“Thanks, but I’ve got this.” You flick a few bills onto the table. “That should be enough to cover my share. See you at the wrap party, Chris.”

He still won’t look you in the eye. “Yeah… see you there.”

You rise to leave, and as soon as you’re out the door of the bar, you sprint for the nearest taxi, furiously scrubbing at your lips with the back of your hand.

Hunt is, as usual, fast asleep when you creep in the door, but stirs when you rustle the bedcovers.

“Late,” he mumbles, and you slide your arms around him and pull him tightly against you. He grumbles sleepily, but returns the embrace and you exhale against his broad chest.

“I need to tell you something,” you whisper, and you feel him grow rigid in your arms before relaxing. He’s unmistakably awake now.

“Go on,” he says. “I’m listening.”

It all comes out in a rush of words.

“I was at a bar like I said I’d be and everyone went home and it was just me and Chris and then we were talking and I thought he was asleep and then I looked at him and then he was suddenly kissing me. I’m _so, so sorry,_ Thomas…”

He doesn’t let go of you immediately, which you take as a good sign, but he doesn’t really do anything else either, not for a long time. You hear him inhale, then exhale, deep and steady.

“And were you a willing participant in this?” He asks, in measured tones.

“No!” You reply immediately. “No, no, I didn’t, I just sprung back after it happened and knocked my beer everywhere and then I came home.”

He lets out a short bark of laughter. “Yes, you would, wouldn’t you. Good, that’s all I needed to know.”

You wait for a beat to see if he’s going to follow up with anything else, but he doesn’t, and he’s still holding you.

“Aren’t you… angry?” You ask dubiously. You’ve seen him have stronger aggressive reactions to toothpaste commercials that he thinks could have been directed better.

“Oh, I am not pleased with Mr. Winters at all, and I think we will be having words of the less than friendly variety. But I realize what you’re asking.” He pulls away for a moment, groping around on his bedside table. There’s a click and his lamp floods the room with the low orange light. He looks into your eyes, but you see no jealousy, no anger.

He looks deep into your eyes. “You are not at fault for his actions. He’s the one who behaved poorly, and I don’t blame you.”

He strokes your hair and lets out a content sigh.

“But maybe… I was accidentally sending mixed signals. I touched his knee, I didn’t mean anything by it, but I still did it and maybe he took it the wrong way…”

“Shh.” Hunt shushes you with a kiss. “Don’t make excuses for other people’s poor behavior. He kissed you without your consent. I won’t hear you make any excuses for him.”

A shaky laugh escapes your lips and you grab his hand, twining your fingers together and bringing it to rest above your heart. “Geez. How are you so perfect?”

He smiles. “Oh, I expect it’s half genetics, half years of dedicated work. But that’s off the record.” Then, completely serious again, “Tonight… you left as soon as it happened and you confided in me as soon as you came home. Rather than the opposite, I actually take this as a further sign that I can trust you implicitly.”

He gives your hand a tender squeeze, and the expression on his face is warm, unguarded. His feelings are laid bare before you, no bravado and no hiding behind witty sarcasm. “I love you, you know.”

You feel like he’s just broken your heart into pieces and rebuilt it again, stronger, more complete than ever before. It’s the first time he’s ever said those words to you.

“Me too… I mean… I love you,” you whisper back, and because he’s Thomas Hunt, fabled director and Hollywood legend, it’s only right and natural that he reply in a movie quote.

“I know.”

 

 

The next day you can’t help fretting about the situation again – this time not about Hunt’s reaction, but what to do when you next face Chris.

“I planned to bring you as my plus one to the wrap party, but now I’m not sure if even _I_ want to go,” you lament.

Hunt rolls his eyes, not a shred of pity in his voice when he replies. “You’ll have to face him sooner rather than later. Don’t think you’re going to be able to promote an entire movie without even seeing him once. In fact, you will be in quite close quarters. I suggest you clear the air before you’re thrust into that situation, and what better way to do it than attending the wrap party with me?”

You look at him suspiciously. “I seem to recall you mentioning something about having strong words with him the next time you saw him. I don’t want you to start anything in public.”

Hunt raises an eyebrow in disdain. “Please try to have more faith in me. As you should know, it’s in my nature to keep these kinds of matters civil.”

You raise an eyebrow of your own. “The last time you saw a guy making unwanted advances on me, you punched him in the face.”

Hunt coughs into his hand, his cheeks turning a faint pink. “I wouldn’t compare that Neanderthal to Mr. Winters. He may have had a grave error, but after listening to your full recount, it sounds like he backed off when you made it clear his affections were unwanted. That wasn’t true of the last time. That called for… more drastic measures.”

He pauses.

“Also, he called me Grandpa.”

You laugh, feeling your spirits lift a little. “Whatever you say, Grandpa. But you’re right. I’m going to see Chris whether I want to or not, so I may as well face him with you beside me.”

“That and you deserve to go to your first Hollywood blockbuster wrap party,” Hunt says. “Don’t let him ruin that for you.”

You consider it for a moment and then nod decisively. “You’re right. And I’ve been dying to introduce you to the girls. Monique practically grew up on your work and she’s a huge fan, so she about flipped when I mentioned bringing you to the wrap party as my date. She’d be devastated if we didn’t show.”

“Well then,” Hunt says, “That settles it. I’d better dust off my good suit.”

You roll your eyes and call after him as he retreats from the room. “They’re _all_ your good suits!”

 

The party is a lavish affair, with an open bar and so many different kinds of canapés that you eventually lose count. Apparently Chris chose and paid for the venue, an upper-story restaurant with huge glass windows and a panoramic view of the city stretching out before you. It was a great choice, you think, looking over at Chris as he sips champagne and chats with the producer. He’s been studiously avoiding you all night, barely meeting your eyes when you walked in with Thomas on your arm. And there you’d been, worrying about whether _you’d_ be able to summon the courage to talk to _him._

Monique practically wets herself with excitement when you introduce her to Hunt, a bright blush spreading across her dark skin as she manages to stammer out how much she loves his work and what it means to her that he’s come back to directing.

“Careful,” you tell her. “I’m afraid if his ego inflates anymore, it’s going to burst.”

Hunt mutters something about pots and kettles, but he has an amused look on his face.

It’s at that moment you look up and notice that Chris is finally alone, probably for the first time that night. Hunt seems to notice at the same moment and takes you by the arm.

“If you’ll excuse us for a moment, I could do with some more champagne.”

 

Chris notices that Hunt is making a beeline for him a little too late to escape and his face grows oddly pale. He seems to be eyeing the distance to the bathroom from where he’s standing when the two of you stop in front of him.

“Evening, Mr. Winters,” Hunt says, tone strangely amicable.

“Hey Chris,” you add, and Chris manages to paste on a friendly smile and reply in turn.

Hunt doesn’t sound angry at all, and you can almost see Chris hoping that maybe you hadn’t told him about what went down the other night, and that maybe he _is_ going to live another day after all.

“Congratulations on the completion of your movie. I had the privilege of reading the screenplay and I’m looking forward to seeing how you brought your character to life.”

“Oh… thanks,” Chris says, sounding mostly normal, albeit a little shaky. “I had a great co-star this time, so it made the work really easy.”

“Yes, she told me the night before last just how great you think she is,” Hunt replies and Chris cringes.

“So… I uh, guess that’s what you’ve come to talk to me about, huh.” Forget looking like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar – Chris looks more like a child caught sneaking into the whole cookie factory.

“That would be a correct assumption,” Hunt says. “That wasn’t a very polite thing to do to her or me.”

Chris stares down at the ground, fiddling with his bowtie.

“Look, I can’t begin to apologize enough about that, to you or her…” He exhales deeply. “Geez, this is embarrassing. You sure know how to corner a guy, huh.”

“Yes, I’m an expert,” Hunt says dryly.

“Chris, you apologized enough after it happened,” you cut in. “I think Thomas just… he can’t really leave this kind of thing alone, pretend it never happened.”

Chris finally looks Hunt in the eye. He has his trademark glare on his face, but Chris weathers it.

“She’s a really, really great woman. Keep treating her better than I did.” He looks a little reluctant to continue, but presses on, regardless. “I was drunk, and I think it just suddenly occurred to me that she wasn’t coming back, and I wasn’t ever going to get another chance and I… I screwed up.”

Chris shrugs helplessly.

“That’s a mild way of putting it,” Hunt replies. “But you had to know, being the way she is, that she wouldn’t stand for it. She’s loyal. You know that.” He squeezes your forearm tenderly.

“Yeah.” Chris nods and looks at you. “I think… that’s part of the reason why I did it, instead of just leaving it. If I’d really thought I had a chance, that you’d accept my advances… I don’t think I would’ve. You guys are good together. Hurts to admit it, but you are. I wouldn’t want to break that up.”

“Kind of a shitty way to finally get closure, Chris,” you say bluntly, and he has the decency to look ashamed. “But I’ll give you another chance, as a friend. Despite this slip-up, you’ve done a lot for me and I value our friendship. But this is a two strikes and you’re out kind of situation.”

“I know,” he says, quickly but solemnly. “I’m going to actually try and move on. Obviously, I wish it was with me, but even though it isn’t, it’s good to see you so happy.”

“I strive for nothing less than excellence,” Hunt says. You elbow him.

“Look, I’d better make some more rounds but, uh… I hope this is all sorted out between us now. All three of us,” Chris says, and you nod.

“Yeah. Pretty sweet venue you chose, by the way. It’s a great party.”

“I can confirm this. One of the more decent wrap parties I’ve attended,” Hunt says and Chris smiles at the two of you gratefully.

“Thanks. See you guys around, I guess.”

He walks off, a slight slump to his posture. When he’s out of earshot, you turn to Hunt.

“You let him off easy. Getting soft?”

He chuckles. “Perhaps. But he’s accepted the fact that he violated your trust and moved on you without your consent and he’s not making excuses. Any accusations I could’ve made would have been a waste.”

“How economical of you.”

“I can be when I choose to.” He looks satisfied with the outcome. “Now, how about we continue the celebration with some more champagne?”

You smile and slip your hand into his. “I think you read my mind.”


	5. Doubts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Considering that chapter 10 is only going to be an epilogue, that means we're more than halfway through the story! Anyway, I hope this chapter is alright and not too melodramatic...

Time flies and you’re knee-deep in promoting your new movie when you realize it’s been 5 months since you moved in with Hunt. Post production is apparently going well, and if everything continues to go off without a hitch, there are murmurs about the movie finishing ahead of schedule.

Things haven’t been too weird with Chris either. At first it wasn’t easy for either of the two of you to meet each other’s eyes, much less hold a conversation. But since this is a romance movie, the promotional posters and interviews required both, so you’ve been forced to get over it pretty quickly. You finally slip into a tentative friendship, eventually even get back into the habit of lunching together (you mutually agreed that going to dinner and anything involving alcohol were off the table until you got more comfortable with this again).

He even stands up for you when one of the producers is adamant that the two of you appear on May Gordon’s show to promote the movie (and, knowing May Gordon, to address the rumors still circulating about your ambiguous relationship). Before you can even get your mouth open to say that you think it might not be a good idea, Chris steps in, taking the words out of your mouth.

“No,” he says, with an air of finality. “That’s not a good idea.”

The producer seems taken aback, barely managing to sputter a ‘why not?’

Chris shoots you a knowing look. “You wanna take that question, or should I?”

You nod at him, catching the figurative ball. “Because May Gordon is a soulless parasite who sucks the life out of any and everything she touches? I’ll give you the benefit of a doubt and assume you don’t know about her history of trying to rip my career to pieces before it even started… but she tried to rip my career to pieces before it even started. I can’t go on her show.”

The producer seems taken aback. “But… her show has high viewership… it’d be crazy not to appear on it when we’ve been invited. We can’t pass up this kind of publicity. Not when you’re… you know. No offense, but you’re not the biggest name in the business. We could really do with the boost.”

You bite your lip, face twisting in thought. Word in this town spread fast, and if you got the reputation of being a diva, refusing interviews before you’re even that famous, it wouldn’t look good and would probably cost you further down the track. But on the other hand, you hate to think what May Gordon will try to pull if you _do_ agree to appear on her show. Caught between a rock and a hard place.

“Can we… can we at least strike a deal with her? No harrowing personal questions or something?” You half ask, half plead.

The producer looks torn, and Chris steps up to the plate again.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea actually. Tell her no personal questions, and if she can’t keep the deal, then I’ll refuse to appear on her show. Ever again.” He says it with a grin. “We may need the publicity for this movie, but _she_ needs big stars on her show for it to remain relevant. I doubt she’ll argue too much.”

The producer’s brow is furrowed. “I get where you two are coming from, but this is May Gordon. If she doesn’t at least ask you about the tabloids, everyone watching is going to know we struck some kind of a deal with her. Gossip and rumors are what she’s famous for.”

Chris shrugs. “Then tell her to submit a list of questions in writing for us to okay or veto. Get the publicist on the case. I don’t care how you do it, but we’re only going to appear on the show if I’m assured she isn’t going to try and drag my co-star through the mud. I’m not budging on this one.”

The producer sighs. Chris is usually very laid-back, but he also has this particular voice he uses when he’s talking about a matter that he will absolutely not back down on. And that’s the voice he’s using now.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he finally says, turning on his heel and walking out.

You face Chris with a grateful smile. “Thanks. I owe you one. I’m pretty sure my relationship with Hunt is the worst kept secret in Hollywood, and I don’t want to get a reputation as a cheater.”

He shakes his head. “Nah, it was nothing. I’ve got your back. I can’t say I’m May Gordon’s greatest fan either. She wasn’t exactly kind to me when I was getting into the business. Not that she was out for my blood quite like she is for yours, but either way, it feels great to finally have a reason to put my foot down.”

“How about a few kicks while you have it there?” You say innocently, and Chris starts to laugh.

“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” he says, then falters, correcting himself. “…any more than I already have, I mean.”

“You seem to have a talent for getting back on my good side, so I wouldn’t worry about it too much,” you tease him. “Either way, I can’t wait to see May grinding her teeth when she wants to probe about our relationship and can’t.”

“The small pleasures, huh. Anyway, speaking of the media, I suppose we’d better get to that magazine shoot unless we want to be late.”

You check the time on your phone. “You’re right. Knowing L.A traffic, if we leave now, we’ll be right on time.”

The two of you track down Chris’ manager, who will be escorting you to the studio in his car, and find her on the phone, pacing as she talks, with an agitated look on her face.

“Well can’t you just hurry the other shoot and… no! We have a schedule to keep to as well, you… of course we don’t have time tomorrow! What… first thing in the morning? The actors aren’t going to like it, I can tell you that much. They’re already busy enough as it is. _Yes,_ I’ll talk to them about it, but no one is going to be happy about this… yes, I’ll call back and confirm.”

She hangs up the phone with a sigh, finally noticing the two of you.

“They double booked the studio for the shoot. We’re going to have to reschedule it to start at 8:00am tomorrow morning if we want to get it done in time for the magazine release date.”

You and Chris share a pained look – with two interviews and a TV appearance already on the cards tomorrow, an 8:00am start means you’ll be doing a 15 hour work day. His manager seems to catch on to this, because she hastens to try and take the edge off.

“Of course, this means that your schedules have both opened up for the rest of the day. Why don’t you take some time off, relax, recuperate. I think you’ve earned it.”

That’s a silver lining if you’ve ever heard one. Chris seems to be thinking the same thing.

“Thank goodness for small blessings,” he says. “D’you wanna get an early dinner? …it’s okay if you don’t, after…”

He trails off, realizing his manager is still standing right there.

“…after how many hours you’ve been putting in,” he finishes. “You must want some downtime.”

You nod. “Yeah. Usually I’d never turn down an invitation to get food, but it’s Tuesday, and Thomas finishes lectures at 3:00 on Tuesdays, so he always gets home early.” You check the time. It’s almost 5:00, which means he’ll probably be home in about an hour. If you hurry, you can get back first and surprise him.

Chris takes it in stride. “Okay. See you tomorrow… bright and early.”

The thought makes you groan. “Don’t make me think about that anymore than I already have to.”

After tying up a few loose ends, you grab your handbag and leave the building, making it home in thirty minutes. Thomas isn’t back yet, so you decide to vegetate on the couch while you wait for him. It’s been a while since you’ve just watched vapid TV and let yourself zone out, and that’s exactly what you do. The next thing you know, you’re opening your eyes and it’s dark outside, the only light in the room coming from the television screen.

“Must’ve dozed off,” you say aloud through a yawn, then grab your phone and check the clock. It’s already past 7:00 and Thomas still isn’t home. Maybe he’s doing overtime; he doesn’t expect you back until 8:00, maybe even 9:00 at the earliest, so he probably doesn’t see any point in hurrying home.

For a moment you consider calling him to check what he’s up to, see if maybe it’s something he can drop, but you change your mind. Ever since filming started, you’ve been spending almost all your time working, and any moments you’ve had to spare, you’ve been spending with Hunt. And as much as you love him, it’s been months since you’ve had any time to yourself. On a whim, you decide to get dinner alone at a greasy fast food restaurant that Hunt would never be caught dead at, and do a bit of late night window shopping.

An hour and a half later finds you stuffed full of fries and chicken, perusing expensive shoes that maybe you’ll be able to justify buying once you’ve been paid in full for this movie. It’s quite relaxing, finally getting some alone time, but it’s getting late and if you want to be presentable at your shoot tomorrow, you need to be in bed at a reasonable hour.

The lights are on and Hunt’s car is in the driveway when you get back. You find him at the dining table, enjoying a simple dinner of chicken salad while he types one-handed on his laptop.

“Honey, I’m home,” you trill, settling into the chair beside his. “What time did you get back today?”

“Oh… about six,” he says absentmindedly. He’s frowning at the computer screen as he speaks, so he doesn’t catch the look that crosses your face.

He definitely wasn’t home at six, or even at seven and you know it for a fact. When you left the house, it was already 7:30 and he definitely wasn’t here then, but you can’t begin to fathom why he’d lie about it – it’s Hunt, after all, and he’s nothing if not honest… honest to a fault, one might say.

“So, how was work?” He asks, finally looking up from his emails. You falter for a minute, but quickly regain your posture and force a nonchalant smile.

“It was fine. Had some weird scheduling mishaps, so I have a magazine shoot starting at 8:00 tomorrow, but other than that, nothing out of the ordinary.”

You don’t tell him that you came home early today. You aren’t sure why – he’s probably not lying, you’ve decided; he probably just got so caught up in work that he lost track of time. Chances are that he came home right after you left and you just missed each other.

Satisfied with the excuse you’ve made for him, you force the episode out of your mind. Nothing to get paranoid over. Definitely nothing worth bringing up.

 

 

You don’t think about the incident again… for the next two weeks, that is, until you’re forced to confront it.

With the premiere of your film scheduled to screen on Saturday, things have finally slowed down a little. Chris has assured you that they will pick right back up after it’s released nation-wide, and all the talk shows are clamoring to have the two of you make an appearance. But all the promotional material was long since completed and the back-to-back magazine shoots have finally dwindled, which means that you finally have a semblance of a life emerging from the mound of work.

It’s just your luck, then, that on the very first day you start to come home at regular hours again, Hunt tells you that he has a faculty budget meeting, and since they always run late, it probably won’t let out until 8:00, so you won’t be able to have dinner together. He sounds regretful as he says it, so you suppose that’s something… although it could be as much because he hates meetings as it is because he misses you.

You end up having a late lunch that day, and it occurs to you that you probably won’t be hungry again until far past your usual dinner time. Meaning that if you surprise Hunt right after his meeting lets out, you can still eat together. Ethan took you to a classy-but-understated little place last week that you know would be right up Hunt’s alley and you’ve been dying to introduce him.

The halls of Hollywood U are mostly dark as you make your way through them, deciding the best way to catch him is if you wait outside his office until he comes back from his meeting. It’s locked, of course, since there’s nobody in there, and you settle for leaning against the door. You’ve been waiting for a good ten minutes when someone finally comes down the hall… but it isn’t Hunt.

“Oh… you. What are you doing here?” It’s Priya Singh, and she’s just as friendly as usual… which is to say, not at all.

“I’m waiting for Hunt. Didn’t you just have a meeting with him?”

Priya actually looks genuinely confused, which is not an expression you see on her face all that often. It doesn’t last long. She’s back to her usual stony self in seconds.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Professor Hunt left the premises well over two hours ago. I don’t think he intends on coming back today. I suggest you go _home_.”

She places a strange emphasis on the last word, which lets you know that she knows about your living arrangements, and exactly what she thinks of them. You, however, pay her no mind. You have bigger problems to deal with – like, why did Hunt leave school two hours ago when he explicitly told you this morning that he had a budget meeting… a meeting that apparently didn’t actually happen?

You swallow audibly, glancing at Priya, who still has you fixed with a glare that you’re starting to think is just her neutral expression. You’re suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to be somewhere else… anywhere but here.

“I… I see,” you muster a strong voice, gathering your dignity. “Okay, thank you for your help, Professor Singh. I’ll be going, then.”

You high-tail it out of there, not looking back to see if she’s watching you go.

After exiting the building, you wander around the school aimlessly for a few minutes in the cold night air, hoping to clear your head a little. You don’t really notice where you’re going, but you don’t have a destination either, so it doesn’t matter anyway.

This is the second time in just as many weeks that Hunt’s actions have contradicted his words. It’s not like him at all, and you have to forcibly stop yourself from jumping to the worst conclusions. You feel like you need to talk it out with someone – not Lisa this time, though. She has a penchant for the dramatic and you need to discuss this with someone who can stay calm, who can listen, but still give good advice. Once again, Addison seems like the best bet. She’s always been the first to know everything about your relationship with Hunt, and she’s always helped you work through your worries about him before without sugar-coating everything.

You head for the dorms, and after finding Addison’s room empty, eventually manage to track her down on the top floor in the fashionista workshop, putting what looks like the finishing touches on some elegant outfits with the trademark whimsical feel of the ADDI line.

“Oh, hey,” she greets you with a bright smile. “Perfect timing. These mannequins are great and all, but I really wanted to see how these clothes fall when they’re on a real moving person. And after that’s done, we can go hang out in my room, because you’ve got that ‘Addison, I really need someone to talk to’ look on your face.”

Despite the worrying weighing on your shoulders, you can’t help but laugh. “I think you know me a little too well. It’s starting to get creepy.”

Addison bustles about, removing the outfit from one of the mannequins and guiding you to a dressing room. “What’s the point of having a best friend if you don’t know each other like the backs of your hands?”

You slip out of your clothes and pull Addison’s masterpiece over your head. The material is wonderfully silky to the touch. “Are these part of your new line?” You ask from behind the curtain.

“Yeah. I finished them a while ago, but I’ve got a magazine shoot at Faux Pas tomorrow so I decided to make some last minute adjustments. How’s it looking in there?”

As if on cue, you push the dressing room curtain aside, stepping out and striking a pose. “See for yourself.”

Addison regards her own work with a critical eye, jotting down notes and adjusting some sketches. Then she hands you the next outfit, which you dutifully change into, before repeating the process. Thirty minutes and some hasty readjustments later, Addison proclaims them ‘as ready as they’re ever going to be’ and the two of you finally retire to her room.

“Can I get you a drink?” She asks, boiling a kettle and making herself a cup of tea.

“The same as you is fine.” You make yourself comfortable on her sofa, a lot cleaner than Lisa’s had been.

“So…” Addison begins as she prepares two mugs. “Let me guess; trouble with Hunt again?”

Your face gives you away before you even reply. “Yeah… at least, I think so. I don’t know what’s going on this time. Maybe there’s trouble, or maybe there isn’t…”

“That’s… awfully confusing.”

“Yeah…” You sigh, falling back into the embrace of the cushions. “He’s just been weird lately. A couple of weeks ago, he came home at some time past 7:30, probably closer to 8:00, but then told me he got home at 6:00. And then tonight, he told me he’d be home late because of a faculty meeting, but I just ran into Professor Singh, and she told me there was no such meeting, and that he left hours ago!”

Addison makes a face and passes you a cup of steaming tea, made just the way you like it.

“Okay, I can see why you’d be worried about that. Have you talked to him about your concerns yet…? I guess not.”

“Not yet,” you confirm. “I don’t want to make any false accusations. Not after he made such a big deal out of how much he trusts me during that thing with Chris. After that, if I turn around and act all suspicious over nothing, he’s going to think that I don’t feel the same way about him.”

Addison takes a sip of her tea, looking contemplative. “I don’t think that’s how it works. You don’t have to make any wild accusations or anything. You just have to tell him that there have been a couple of times his stories haven’t added up, and that it’s making you feel concerned. Ask him to explain. It’s much better than worrying about it forever.”

“I guess you’re right,” you sigh. “What do you think’s up, Addi? He’s such a perfectionist that I don’t see him getting muddled up over dates and times, especially not twice within a month. But I can’t imagine him… you know…”

“Cheating?” Addison supplies. “I know that’s what you’re really worried about.”

“…yeah.” You admit. “That’s… if I’m being honest, that was the first thing on my mind. I’ve been so busy with the movie and all that came with it, so I’ve left him by himself a lot. I keep worrying that he got too lonely and…”

“Stop that line of thought right there.” Addison puts her cup down on a side table and folds her arms. “Remember everything you went through together? He risked his job and reputation just going out with you in the first place and then, as far as he knew, pretty much threw his job away to stop Bianca from being able to blackmail the two of you.”

You pause and consider that idea.

“That’s true,” you agree. “He was willing to sacrifice a lot to make it work between us.”

“And I don’t think it was a decision he made lightly. None of it was. Going out with you, or asking you to move in with him. Professor Hunt… doesn’t decide things on a whim. If things between you two were bad enough that he even _considered_ resorting to cheating, he’d probably break up with you before it even happened.”

You side-eye Addison. “I… can’t decide if that’s comforting or not.”

She shrugs. “I’m just saying, he may be a lot of things… unpleasant things… but I don’t think he’s a cheater. He’s too straight-laced for that.”

She has a point. Even despite your worries, with his holier-than-thou attitude, it is very hard to picture him being unfaithful or doing basically anything that would place you on a higher moral platform than him.

“Okay. So all I have to do is talk to him, iron out any misunderstandings and then everything will probably be okay.” You say it more to psyche yourself up than anything else. “Yeah, that sounds like the sort of grown-up plan that an adult would go through with.”

“I’m sure he’d be proud of you,” Addison says serenely, but you know she’s kind of teasing you because you can see that she’s biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. “Just remember that, shockingly, most problems can be solved when the two parties are willing to talk them through.”

“Right.” You nod. So all you have to do is talk to Hunt. That’s all. Just talking. How hard could just talking be?

 

 

It turns out that it’s harder than you had assumed. Not because Hunt makes it difficult, but because you accidentally fall asleep on the couch the moment you get home and when Hunt rouses you, leading you to the bedroom, you’re only half awake and completely chicken out. The next morning, you get up late and are in such a rush getting ready that there’s literally no time for you to start an important conversation that would need both of your full attention.

‘When we get home tonight,’ you tell yourself. ‘Then I’ll bring it up.’

Today is your big day on May Gordon’s show, and it goes a damn sight better than the last time you were on – not that that’s saying much, given that last time the Silver Circle had to use their resources to shut down power to the entire building and then whisk you away to safety like some kind of damsel in distress.  
Still, it’s kind of satisfying to see May Gordon clenching her fists and squirming in her seat, forcing herself to play nice and not ask any intrusive follow up questions when you and Chris tell her how the rumors about the two of you are just that – baseless rumors. Watching her struggle to pretend that she has any conceivable interest in the actual movie you’re promoting (she barely manages) without being able to touch on or stir up any gossip is a real treat. You’re going to need to shout Chris a beer for this some time. Maybe even two beers.

By the time the interview is over, you’re actually feeling pretty good about life, your movie and yourself. As soon as you and Chris are back in the dressing room, getting ready to leave, you clap him on the back, a huge grin on your face.

“Did you see how hard she had to bite her tongue not to probe after you told her that ‘there’s been nothing between us since we broke up all those months ago and there probably never will be again’? She must have been crying inside.” You keep your voice to a whisper, just in case someone’s listening in.

Your favorite moment had probably been when May hadn’t been able to help trying to steer the interview in a certain direction and had mentioned that she’d heard ‘the two of you have _excellent chemistry_ on set’ and did either of you care to comment on that? And Chris had just turned it around saying that everyone would have to watch the movie to find out.

Chris looks amused. “You’re taking way too much pleasure in her pain. I didn’t realize you could be so ruthless.”

“Turnabout’s fair play,” you reply, looking at him with large, guiltless eyes. “Just think of it this way; we got to spend the whole 30 minutes talking up our movie instead of talking down those relationship rumors.”

“Well, however you want to frame it, I’d definitely say the phrase ‘Mission Accomplished’ is accurate right about now,” Chris says, pulling on his street clothes. “I’d love to have a celebratory late lunch with you, but I have that interview with Men’s Fitness magazine, so I’m afraid I’m gonna have to run. Rain check?”

“You know it.” You beam at him.

You and Chris part ways. There’s an hour before your next appointment – this time it’s actually not related to the movie, but a consultation meeting about the brand of perfume that Ethan pushed you to release – and so you decide to grab a bite at a café and kill time. Just as you’re about to bite into a bagel, you feel your phone vibrate against your leg.

You pull it out. It’s a text from Addison that only says, ‘ _Is this a good time?_ ’

‘ _Good as any. I’ve got an hour free. What’s up?’_

Instead of a text back, your screen lights up with Addison’s caller I.D. You press accept and hold the phone to your ear.

“Addi? What’s up?”

When she replies, she’s a little out of breath and her words are jumbled, with a slight edge to her voice. She sounds distressed, you think.

“Hey, I… I was just at Faux Pas for the shoot and I was talking… Marianne was there and then… I was outside, and oh god, I don’t know how to tell you this, and maybe it’s nothing… oh, I don’t want to be the one to tell you… what should I do…”

“Take a deep breath,” you tell her. “Just calm down. What’s wrong? Did something happen with the shoot? The outfits? Is everything okay?”

You hear her take your advice, a deep, shuddery breath over the line. She doesn’t speak for a moment, but then slowly and hesitantly it all comes out.

“The shoot… the shoot was great. Nothing wrong with that. It was… after. I was on the way to my car to drive back to campus when I realized I’d left my binder with all the notes and stuff I made for the shoot back in the dressing room. So I went back to get it and…”

You hear her swallow, the way she’s breathing makes it sound like she’s about to cry.

“Look, I’m not saying I saw anything… totally incriminating but it was just… Hunt. And Marianne. He was there, at Faux Pas, and I thought maybe he has some kind of meeting or project of something going on, but then… they got in his car and drove off somewhere just now, and I remembered everything we talked about last night and maybe… maybe…”

Your heart seems to constrict and then freeze in your chest, and you’re not even aware that your asked your lips to move when you reply to Addison.

Despite feeling as if your brain, if not your entire body, has just shut down, you hear yourself calmly say, “I’ll talk to him about it now. They’re friends, and you’re right, you didn’t see anything entirely incriminating. There’s no sense in jumping to conclusions. Thank you, Addi. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

There’s a brief silence on the other end of the phone. “Yeah… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get so worked up about it, especially after everything I said last night. It’s just that, if he really is doing something… like that… I couldn’t stand it after I spent so much time defending him and reassuring you last night.”

“It is a big coincidence,” you admit, a little robotically. “But none of it’s your fault, no matter what happens. I’m gonna have to go, Addison, I’m going to call him now and see if I can figure out what’s going on.”

“Okay… okay. Just… good luck, alright? I really hope things work out for… well, I just hope they work out.”

“I’m sure they will.” You have no idea why you’re the one reassuring her right now, instead of the other way around. Maybe it’s because you can’t think of any other way to react. “I’ll call you again soon. Bye.”

“Bye…”

You hang up first and immediately speed dial Hunt’s number before the shock wears off enough to let your nerves act up. It rings for a while, but he eventually picks up. You strain your eyes, but can hear nothing in the background.

“Hey,” he says, sounding like nothing is out of the ordinary. Then again, he has the acting chops to rival any big name in the industry today. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Just wondering what you’re up to,” you say, keeping your voice light enough to match his. Two can play this game. “I’ve got an hour before my next appointment and you don’t have any lectures until 4:00 today, right? Do you want to get a late lunch together? Or a coffee, if you’ve already eaten.”

“I’d love to,” he says, “but I’m terribly busy with marking right now. I don’t think I’ll be able to get off campus. This hardly constitutes as a ‘break’ from classes at all.”

He says it in his usual grumpy tone, and if you hadn’t heard from Addison that she’d just seen him several miles off campus, you wouldn’t doubt his sincerity at all. As it is, it feels like he’s taken his words and used them to punch straight through your chest.

“Oh… well… that’s too bad,” you say, unable to help the tiny hitch in your voice. You can only hope that he doesn’t chalk it up to anything other than you being genuinely disappointed. “Guess I’ll see you tonight.”

You force yourself to let him reply, using every ounce of your willpower not to slam your finger down on the ‘end call’ button.

“I’ll try to be home as early as humanly possible,” he reassures you. “See you later.”

You let him end the call, listening to the dial tone before it automatically clicks off.

You slowly lower the phone to the table and leave it there, staring out the window off the café and out to the street, your eyes not registering anything you’re seeing.

There’s no way for you to make excuses for him on this one; this time, there’s no putting it down to him being busy and muddling dates or hours. You know he just told you a bold-faced – bold-voiced – lie, without so much as a tremor to belie him. You know Addison isn’t making it up – there’s no reason for her to make it up – and if he were with Marianne for professional, or even friendly reasons, then he would have told you. He wouldn’t be trying to cover it up.

You force yourself not to bury your head in your hands.

Calling on your last reserve of iron willpower, you fight off the crushing feeling of hopelessness that threatens to swallow you whole. You imagine a fine coat of steel encasing your heart, blocking you off from any and all emotions, and speak to yourself inside your own head, in a steady monotone.

‘ _I will confront him tonight. I will tell him everything I’ve heard, everything I’ve seen. And I will get my answers.’_


	6. Working Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does this chapter seem rushed? BECAUSE IT WAS. Sorry. I literally fell asleep 3 days in a row before getting ready to write this and my husband keeps wanting to talk interior design at the most inopportune moments. But I finally got a moment to myself today and was like, "3000 words in 3 hours? Yes, why not."  
> So uh... yeah, no, just sorry. Sorry about this one, guys. Sorry.

Hunt walks in to find you sitting on the couch with your hands folded in your lap and your head bowed.

“…is something wrong?” He asks immediately, a tinge of worry in his voice.

You swallow audibly, managing to raise you field of view as far as his chin, but you can’t quite seem to make eye contact, a little worried of what you might see there when you finally confront him.

“Thomas…” You speak cautiously. “I have something very important I want to talk to you about, and I want you to be completely honest with me.”

You can almost imagine the scowl on his face as he replies. “I’m always completely honest with you.”

Your eyes finally flick up, coyly meeting his. “Are you though?”

He regards you carefully, almost as though the two of you are playing poker and he’s trying to figure out your bluff. “Alright. What is this about?”

“…Marianne.” You force her name off of your tongue as though it’s a curse word. You don’t mean to say it quite like that because your respect her, at least as a professional, but you can’t seem to help it. “I… I know you were with her today, Thomas. Add… _my friend_ saw you with her, and when I called to ask where you were, you lied and said you were on campus.”

Silence settles across the room like a fine layer of dust and you see Hunt working his throat, Adams apple bobbing. He doesn’t look guilty, so much as inconvenienced, and you’re not sure if that should make you should feel hopeful or insulted.

“Ah… yes. Marianne mentioned in passing that Ms. Sinclair was working on the premises today. I suppose I should’ve been more careful.”

Now you’re definitely insulted. You suppose that he’s not denying it, which is better than nothing, but he’s also not jumping to explain himself or why he’d felt the need to lie to you. The tone of annoyance he’s taken also grinds your nerves, and you feel the need to stand up for Addison.

“Addi was only trying to be a good friend,” you say defensively. “What would _you_ do if you saw your best friend’s boyfriend driving off with another woman?”

Hunt’s eye twitches. “Well, first things first, I wouldn’t assume I needed to inform my friend of their significant other’s every action. And in my hypothetical best friend’s case, hopefully _they_ wouldn’t assume their significant other getting into a car with a member of the opposite sex warranted an immediate phone call to check on their fidelity.”

“I’m not surprised that the only best friend you have is hypothetical,” you mutter.

He sniffs at the slight, but presumably recognizes that you’re lashing out because you’re hurt and wisely chooses to ignore it.

“What I’m trying to say is, I find it troubling that the moment you hear about me simply getting into a car with another woman, you feel like you need to check up on me. Admittedly, I did lie when you called, but I have my reasons.”

You feel something pop inside you. You’re pretty sure it’s your self-control.

“Like this is the first time you’ve lied to me?! You’ve planted, fed _and_ watered enough seeds of doubt for me to assume the worst when I hear about you skulking around with another woman!” You take a deep breath, trying to steady your voice, stop it from wavering and breaking. “A month ago I wouldn’t have even batted an eye… heck, a month ago, Addison wouldn’t have even thought to call me, much less practically in tears!”

Hunt’s frown turns from disapproving and slightly annoyed to anxious and perplexed. “I’m beginning to feel like I don’t have the full story here. What happened between a month ago and now?”

You realize that your fists are clenched so hard that your nails are biting painfully into your palms, leaving little red crescents. You try to relax a bit. It isn’t very effective.

“It’s funny you should use that choice of wording. I definitely feel like there’s a full story I don’t have either. Like the day when I came home around 5:00, then left the house again at 7:30 to get something to eat and when I come back, you tell me you got home at 6:00. Or when I was on campus and decided to surprise you after your budget meeting… the budget meeting that professor Singh, when she found me outside your office, helpfully informed me didn’t actually exist.”

You glare at him accusingly as you speak and his expression, which had been hard before, softens dramatically.

“Oh… oh. I’m so sorry…” He says, taking a step towards you. He reaches out to touch your face, but then thinks better of it and stops mid-motion. “I didn’t realize you… I thought I’d hidden it better, but you… if you noticed something strange and were starting to have doubts, you should’ve told me, and I’d have found another way…”

His sudden change in demeanor somehow makes it harder instead of easier and you finally feel tears welling up in your eyes. You roughly brush them away with the back of your hand.

“Found another way to _what_? Cheat on me with Marianne?” Despite your resolve, your voice finally trembles and cracks. “What are you talking about?”

“I am not cheating on you. I thought you knew me better than that,” he says firmly. You feel like you’re being scolded.

“I didn’t think you were the type to tell a bold-faced lie to hide your actions either, but you’ve done it three times in the space of a month now,” you mumble, ducking your head so he can’t see that your eyes are wet. Not that he hasn’t probably noticed already.

“I… I have my reasons. They’re not malicious, but I can’t explain yet. You’re going to have to trust me. And I know it’s going to be hard for you, but I need for you not to ask any questions.” He sighs. “I’ve always been an ‘ends justify the means’ type of man, but it seems that my means have hurt you very badly… I can’t apologize enough for that. I hope you’ll forgive me when the time comes.”

“Can you please stop being so vague and just tell me what’s going on?” You ask, wringing your hands and staring at him pleadingly. “Because right now it sounds like you’re trying to make excuses for your actions and failing to come up with anything.”

He looks torn. “Look… I made a mistake. All I can say for now is that I’m consulting with Marianne on something. I can’t tell you what it is. I was worried that if I told you I was discussing something with her from the start that you’d bother me for details and try to snoop around. As you’re often wont to do. But now that it’s ended up like this, I almost wish I _had_ taken that route…”

“So… that’s it?” You swallow. “A bunch of lies, you sneaking around with an ex-girlfriend behind my back, and all I get is an ‘it’s not what it looks like, but I can’t tell you what it _actually_ is’?”

Hunt lets out a deep sigh. “I really want to explain, but I have my hands tied here. Unfortunately all I can ask you to do is wait until I’m ready. I know it isn’t fair to you.” He looks you square in the eye, as if trying to show you his sincerity. “What I _can_ say right now is that I love you, deeply and completely. Marianne and I are no longer in a relationship for a reason, and I wouldn’t jeopardize what you and I have built in order to rekindle some half-baked version of it. I’m not stupid.”

You can only watch him helplessly. He certainly looks like he’s being honest, but he’s an actor, and an accomplished one at that. You want to believe that the kind of emotion on his face right now isn’t something you can fake, but you’re also not sure exactly what you can believe anymore.

“I… I need time to think,” you admit. “I don’t know what to do or what to make of this… I mean, I thought we could talk to each other about anything. What can you talk to Marianne about that you can’t tell me?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that either, for obvious reasons,” he says. “Can you just trust me on this one?”

“I’m not sure I can.” You give him the honest answer. He actually has the gall to look hurt. “But I’m going to do my best to give you a chance, because if this really can be explained, I don’t want to throw what we have away either. Please don’t let me down, Thomas. Please.”

Relief washes over his face. “It’s been a long time since I’ve let anyone down. I don’t plan to start with you.”

You nod half-heartedly. It’s all you can bring yourself to do.

He places a tentative hand on your arm. “Would you like to have dinner now? I can make something tonight.”

“No thanks,” you reject his offer, stomach churning a little at the thought of eating. “I don’t really have much of an appetite. I think I’m going to head to bed early and sleep this off.”

Hunt looks like he wants to argue, but in the end decides not to push it and lets you do as you wish.

“I’ll put some the leftovers in the refrigerator. If you get hungry later, just help yourself.”

“Thanks.” You force a weak smile. “Goodnight, Thomas.”

“Goodnight…” He echoes. You can feel his eyes on you as you retreat from the room.

You change into your pajamas and slide into bed, facing the wall. With the sheer amount of jumbled thoughts racing around your head, sleep doesn’t come easily and you’re still awake two hours later when Hunt slips into the room. You feel the bed dip under his weight as he climbs in beside you, and a moment later, a tender hand presses gently against your shoulder blade through your shirt. You don’t move, feigning sleep, hoping he won’t push it.

True to form, he doesn’t, instead removing his hand a moment later and sighing into the silence of the room.

“Sleep well,” he murmurs, and the bed covers rustle as he rolls over and then falls still.

In the end, you’re pretty sure that he falls asleep before you.

When you finally do fall into slumber, it’s fitful and you’re wide awake again a little past 5 in the morning. Hunt is still snoring softly, and on any other day, you’d mold yourself against his back and let his even breathing lull you back to sleep. But today, you don’t want to face him when he does wake up, and you use the opportunity to sneak out of bed, grabbing an outfit for the day and creeping out the door to get changed in the bathroom.

It’s not that you want to avoid him, but you’re still feeling fragile from your conversation yesterday and you aren’t sure you could take any more apologies or excuses today. You’d barely been able to force yourself to send Addison a simple message about it, saying nothing more than, ‘ _Talked to him about the Marianne thing. Apparently it’s not what it looks like. Going to see what happens.’_

With the premiere of your movie only a day away, you can’t afford to be distracted. Chris still seems to sense that there’s something off about you when you see him later that day, but since you don’t bring it up, he doesn’t pry. Instead, he distracts you with lighthearted conversation and doesn’t stop to ask you why your smile never reaches your eyes, even though it’s obvious he wants to. You’re very grateful to him for it, and it reminds you of why you dated him all those months ago in the first place – he’s incredibly thoughtful but somehow manages to make it looks effortless.

You idly wonder what your life would be like right now if you’d accepted his proposal to you at the top of the Eiffel tower. You certainly wouldn’t be wanting to cry over Hunt. Part of you wonders if maybe you made a mistake, but you force yourself to brush the thought away. You already made your choice.

The day flies by too quickly, and you find yourself going about work as slowly as you can to put off having to go home for as long as possible. Backstage with Chris after yet another TV interview, you spend an inordinate amount of time meticulously removing every your makeup from each and every pore of your skin.

“So, tomorrow’s the long awaited red carpet opening, huh?” Chris, already completely changed and ready to leave, strikes up conversation as you delicately wipe away foundation from between the hairs of your eyebrows. “Should I expect to see you with the good professor on your arm?”

You grimace. Chris had been doing so well…

He takes in the dark look on your face and pulls uncomfortably at the collar of his shirt. “So… is that a no?”

“Yeah. I mean, no. It’s a no.” You sigh. “I’m sorry, Chris. I don’t want to talk about it.”

He nods emphatically, touching you lightly on the shoulder. “Sorry. I could tell there was something bothering you, I just didn’t realize it was to do with… you know. I didn’t mean to bring it up. You going to be okay for tomorrow?”

You finally have to admit that your face is spotless and throw away your cotton cleanser, sighing. “Yeah. I’ll be fine. Things are kind of weird and tough right now, but I’ve also been on the bad side of someone who was once literally the most powerful man in Hollywood… so I’ll get through it.”

Chris doesn’t look satisfied, but he doesn’t push the issue. “Well, if you ever want to talk about it… although, I guess I’m not the best one to turn to for advice on this.”

You actually laugh at that, and even though it’s wry, it’s still a real laugh.

“Yeah, I can think of at least 20 other people that it’d be better for me to discuss my love-life with, and one of them includes a renowned celeb gossip blogger. You’re welcome to distract me any time, though.”

“Noted. And hey, I think that was a glimmer of a real smile.” Chris grins at you. “Anyway, tomorrow is bound to be a great distraction if you can just hold on until then. Open bar, buffet, hundreds of adoring new fans waiting to be made… it’s your first major Hollywood release as a lead.”

“You’re right.” You pack up your things and get ready to go, unable to stall any longer. “Tomorrow’s my day… and yours, since you’re technically the main character.”

“You sure did give me a run for my money, though.”

The two of you walk towards the exit of the studio where you part ways.

Once you’re on your own, you aren’t sure what to do. You still don’t want to go home. Right now, you and Thomas are still on tenterhooks and being in the house is just going to be stressful. You’d be tiptoeing around one another, not really sure what to say. You, worried that you’re giving him a chance while being played for a fool, and him, knowing that even though you’re sticking around to let him prove himself, you’re still doubting him.

There’s nothing appealing about it at all, and it hurts that the place you’ve been calling home for months now, the home of Thomas Hunt that you’d once have given anything to even set foot in, has become one of the last places on earth you’d rather be.

Instead of going home, you decide to finally return the 10 or so missed (or rather, ignored) phone calls from Addison, figuring that you can only avoid addressing the topic with her for so long before she decides to send out a search party.

The first thing she says when she answers your call is, “About time! I was starting to think that you were dead… or that he was dead and you’d gone into hiding.”

“Only dead inside,” you correct her, hoping the humorous tinge you’ve added to your voice is enough to keep her from taking the comment seriously. “But really. I’m okay… or as okay as I could be in this situation.”

“Do you wanna come over? Or do you wanna talk a walk or something together? Sounds like you’ve got a lot of nervous tension you need to work out.”

You immediately brighten up. That’ll give you something to do to avoid going home for at least another few hours, and it involves spending more time with one of your favorite people to boot.

“Working out some of this nervous tension sounds like a spectacular idea,” you agree. “I’ll be there in… as fast as L.A traffic will let me, I guess.”

You hear Addison laugh over the receiver. “I’ll keep a candle lit in the window for you.”

 

The two of you go to a nearby park and stroll through it leisurely as the sun starts to disappear below the horizon, and you explain the details of what happened yesterday to Addison.

“So… basically, he’s just telling you to wait, but you don’t know for what or for how long?” Addison sounds pretty disbelieving. “That’s asking a lot of you… if it were me, I don’t know if I could take it.”

“I don’t know if I can either, to be honest,” you admit. “It kind of feels like he’s just biding his time so he can cover his tracks… which I know isn’t a good way to think about it, but…”

“But I don’t blame you,” she finishes for you. “He lied to you, what… three times? That we know of? That doesn’t exactly inspire trust.”

You screw some fallen leaves into the ground with the heel of your foot, taking out some pent up aggression.

“He’s supposed to be all about trust… the only reason I’m giving him the benefit of a doubt is that… _cheating_ seems so unlike him that I’m almost willing to believe his weird non-excuses.”

Addison sighs, frown lines creasing her forehead. “Me too, I have to admit… he’s so self-righteous that it’s hard to imagine him ever doing something like that.”

You make a circuit of the park until it grows dark and then retire back to Addison’s dorm room on campus. You sprawl across her couch, thinking that you really need to come and hang out with her while things are going well for once instead of always bringing doom and gloom with you.

“So, tomorrow’s your big day, huh?” Addison offers you a glass of water. “I’m really looking forward to seeing the movie after all that I’ve heard about it. Thanks for getting me a ticket, by the way.”

“No problem. I wish I could’ve gotten all of you guys tickets to the after party as well, but the executives said it’s for the cast and crew only.”

“It’s okay,” Addison takes a seat next to you. “I don’t even want to think about how many extras it must have taken to fill the spectator stands in all the Olympic scenes.”

You nod. “I’m pretty sure they could fill up the party by themselves. I’ll introduce you to my stunt double at the premiere though. I think you’d like her. She’s hilarious, and she’s a _flipping_ good gymnast.”

Addison places a hand over her heart. “Please, no more puns. I’ve been so emotionally compromised by your whole lying boyfriend ordeal, I don’t think I can handle it.”

Despite everything, you can’t help but laugh. “Speaking of the party, I still haven’t decided what I’m going to wear… I’d better get on that before it’s too late.”

“Oh!” Addison sits bolt upright, swinging her body around to face you. “Actually, if you’d do me the honor of wearing an ADDI original to the event tomorrow, I may have just the thing.”

She runs to a rack in the corner of her room, pulling off a long, flowing dress made up of pastel blues and greens.

“It’s from my latest collection, unreleased as of yet, but I can’t imagine better promotion than the leading lady of this year’s biggest romantic blockbuster wearing it to the premiere of her movie.” Addison pushes it into your hands. “So if you like it, go right ahead. It’s yours. And I just so happen to have the perfect necklace to go with it, if you’re so inclined.”

You hold up the beautiful dress, already knowing that the cut of it would look amazing on you, and you grin at Addison.

“I am so, so inclined. Thanks so much, Addison, this is amazing! I’ll make sure to plug your upcoming collection for all I’m worth as soon as anyone so much as mentions my outfit.”

“So, how about a little fashion show, just to make sure everything goes smoothly tomorrow?” She’s already rifling through her jewelry, looking for that aforementioned perfect necklace.

You model the clothes for her, tweaking the look until it’s just right until you finally notice the time.

“Ugh, it’s getting late… I really don’t want to go home.” You bury your face in your hands. “I could hardly sleep last night, and I really don’t want another repeat of that tonight. Not even all the makeup in the world would be able to hide the bags under my eyes if that happens.”

“You can always stay here,” Addison offers. “Just for tonight, though. I’m not going to let you get away with hiding from all your problems, hoping they’ll disappear. And make sure you let him know where you’ll be. I don’t even want to think about what’ll happen if he thinks you’ve suddenly run off.”

You perk up a little at that. She’s right, you shouldn’t avoid Hunt, but just for tonight, just so you can relax the night before your big premiere…

 “Thanks, Addison. I will. Also, have I ever mentioned that I don’t know what I’d do without you?”

She primly takes a sip of water. “You may have a few times. Let’s not find out, by the way.”

You take another look at yourself in the mirror. Even if you say so yourself, you’re looking pretty good. With your star on the rise, your own production company and several successful projects under your belt, you can’t help but wonder if maybe all that isn’t enough for Hunt. It’s a depressing thought. Marianne is pretty much perfect, albeit she is also basically a female variation of Hunt which means she’s overly critical. Compared to her, are you still too immature for him? You know you can be a little rash, and your youth is apparent in everything about you. Some may consider that a good quality, but with as distinguished as Hunt is, maybe he considers it a flaw…

You try to push your doubts away and enjoy hanging out with Addison, but no matter how pointedly you ignore them, they continue to lurk in the dark corners of your mind, never quite fully dissipating.

 

 

It’s not your first red carpet event, but it’s the first one for a movie you’ve had a leading role in, and it definitely has the biggest budget for something you’ve attended since Chris’ Renegade Ranger film. You know you shouldn’t be surprised to see just how many of his fans are here, clamoring for a look at him from behind ropes and legions of security guards, but it’s always a little overwhelming.

You and Chris are blinded by flashbulbs and bombarded with questions from the press as soon as you hit the red carpet, and as expected, it takes less than a minute for someone to bring up the fact that neither of you have brought dates, and the rumors about the two of you rekindling your relationship.

“No, no, there’s nothing between us,” you reply with a natural sounding laugh. “It’s just a coincidence. My significant other had work that he just couldn’t get away from. You know how it is. I don’t know why Chris didn’t bring anyone. Too many options to choose from, I guess.”

Chris laughs, and you can tell it’s genuine. “Hey now, you’ll stir up even weirder rumors if you keep that kind of talk up. I just don’t have anyone special right now, that’s all.”

You manage to steer the questions onto the topic of your dress, and begin talking up Addison’s line, before the reporters finally begin asking questions about the actual movie. It’s all over in a blur, and before long you’re being ushered into the theatre to introduce the movie.

“It was a privilege starring in my first major production with someone as talented and as experienced as Chris Winters,” you tell the hushed audience. “Acting is my true passion, and that’s what this movie is about; pursuing your true passion no matter what. I hope that it inspires you.”

You step down to let Chris speak, and once he’s finished, the lights go down and the movie begins to roll. It’s still bizarre, seeing your face, huge up there on the screen while your own voice rolls around the theatre.

The audience seems to be responding well, laughing in the right places and crying during the emotional scene. Someone actually lets out a small scream when it looks like your character is going to flub a move during a routine in the final climatic event at the Olympics.  It ends with a standing ovation and you and Chris take the stage again, along with the supporting cast, soaking up the applause.

It’s almost enough to make you forget about the situation with Hunt… almost. But you’re pretty sure the open bar at the after party will help with the rest of that.

 

 

If you’d thought the wrap party had been a lavish affair, the after party for the premiere blows it out of the water. The entire cast and crew, plus a few lucky media outlets are in attendance. Mostly you just chat with the friends you made on set, stuff yourself with food, and take advantage of the champagne that’s flowing like water. You do your best to avoid any journalists, which isn’t too hard given that several celebrities with names much bigger than yours are in attendance, but as luck would have it one manages to catch you just after the party hits its peak, but before things start to wind down.

“You said on the red carpet today that your significant other, Thomas Hunt, couldn’t make it today because of work-related demands. Could it be that he has another major project in the works after your success on Centaurus Lost?”

You immediately force your face to keep from falling, plastering a smile on. The journalist is a fresh-faced young woman, not that much older than yourself, and you can tell that she means no harm.

“Oh… I don’t think that’s for me to say…” you try to deflect the question. “He would never forgive me if I gave away his secrets before he’s ready.”

You force a laughing, hoping it doesn’t sound as hollow as it feels. You don’t want to talk about him. Not right now. After a certain stage, you’ve always been a bit of a sad drunk, and talking about Hunt right now kind of makes you feel like you’re going to burst into tears.

The reporter begins to ask you something else, but you cut her off.

“I would love to continue this conversation, but I think I’ve had a bit too much champagne and I _really_ need to use the bathroom,” you tell her, flashing an embarrassed smile. “Would you mind if I excused myself?”

You don’t wait for a response, placing your glass on a table and dashing of in the direction of the restrooms. Inside, you lean against the row of sinks, trying to get a hold of yourself. Your head is kind of pounding, and it’s nothing to do with alcohol. You could really do with some fresh air right now.

You poke your head out of the door and when it doesn’t seem like anyone’s looking, you duck out through some ornate double doors onto a balcony, and lean against the railing. You’re 10 floors up, and the sounds of cars and voices from below are faint.

“How am I supposed to make it through this…” you mutter to yourself.

The doors click open behind you and you’re so surprised you almost go keeling over the railing. You whirl around, seeing Chris standing there, hands up.

“Sorry. Did I startle you?” He joins you, looking out over the city. “Saw you come out here alone after that reporter nabbed you. Something she said bothering you? You know we can have anyone whose overstepped any boundaries be asked to leave. Their papers won’t make a fuss if they want to be invited to attend an event like this again.”

You shake your head. “No, no… she was perfectly polite. She accidentally hit a sore spot.”

Chris looks at you, concern etched into his face. “Hunt? I know I said I wasn’t going to pry, and I guess I shouldn’t given our history, but… I dunno. You’re not acting like yourself. I’m worried. Are you going to be okay?”

You stare back at him. Even after all that happened, even after you broke it off with him, Chris had continued to pine after you without getting involved with anyone else. You can’t help but wonder again if you made a terrible mistake ending things with him. With Hunt, you can’t help but worry whether you’re good enough for him. Somehow, with Chris, that worry has never crossed your mind.

You place your hand over his atop the railing, and he looks at you in shock.

“What?” Despite being an accomplished actor with some legendary adlibs, he seems lost for words.

“I think he’s cheating on me,” you say, and you can’t help the tears welling in your eyes. “He says he isn’t, he said to wait and he’ll explain but I just feel so… I feel so unwanted. Am I not good enough?” You grip his hand tighter and Chris looks torn.

“That’s, uh… that’s a lot to take in, all of a sudden. Cheating? Thomas Hunt?” Chris swallows, looking down at where your hands are overlaying. “Look, I don’t know what’s happening with him. But what I can say is, you’ll never be unwanted. You’re amazing. You know how badly I wanted you. Still want… well.”

You look at him pleadingly, desperate to feel a sense of validation, moving closer until you can feel the heat from his body.

“I’m worried I made a mistake, ending things with you. If it was you, you’d never…” You trail off.

Chris bites his lip. “I don’t think… I don’t think this is a good idea. You’ve been drinking. You’re not thinking straight. And I’m trying to move on… so unless you’re planning on breaking up with Hunt, then…”

You take a deep breath, then pull your hand from his, staring down at the ground in shame.

“You’re right. I’m sorry, Chris. This isn’t fair to you.”

“No, it’s okay,” he assures you. “Why don’t you give me the lowdown on the situation and I’ll see if I can help.”

You feel a rush of gratitude.

“Okay. I’ll try to give you the short version of events.” You give Chris a brief summary, leaving out Marianne’s name. “Then when I confronted him, he told me it wasn’t what it looked like and asked me to wait for him a little longer.”

Chris looks thoughtful. “And you said you’d wait?”

You nod. “Yes… but it’s so stressful. I don’t know how long I’m going to have to wait and it’s eating at me.”

He looks at you, a little forlornly, and you realize it must be taking a great deal of effort for him to give relationship advice to the girl he’d had his heart set on for so long.

“Okay. If it’s the not knowing that’s bothering you, I think I have something that’ll help. Ask him to give you a definite date that he’s going to clear everything up by. If he doesn’t keep his word, then walk out. Even if it’s some big project he has to keep under wraps, if he’s serious about this, then I’m sure he’ll choose to tell you instead of letting you go.”

You think about that. Hunt doesn’t seem like he’d be a fan of ultimatums, but on the other hand, this is your mental wellbeing at stake. He’d have to understand. There could be some wisdom behind Chris’ words.

“I’ll… I’ll try that,” you say hesitantly. “Thanks, Chris. And sorry about…”

“Don’t let it bother you,” he says quickly. “We all do stupid stuff in moments of weakness. I’d know better than anyone.”

That finally gets a smile out of you. “We’d better get back to that party. It wouldn’t do to have the two leads go missing.”

“Shall we then?” Chris offers you his arm and leads you back into the fray.

 

 

Hunt looks a little disheveled when you get home, although you suppose you don’t look that much better yourself. He looks up sharply when he hears you walk in, though he doesn’t stand up from the dining table.

“Thomas,” you greet him.

For once, he looks a little lost for words. “You came home today.”

You nod. “Yeah… I thought we needed to talk.” You seat yourself in a chair next to him. “Look, I know I said I’d wait…”

“It was unfair of me to ask you to do so,” he interrupts. “I’m sorry. When you didn’t come home last night, I… ended up fairing the worst. I worried maybe you thought I deserved a taste of my own medicine, wanted to see how I liked it if you said you were with Addison, but were with… someone else.”

He actually looks ashamed. You suppose that’s an improvement.

“Thomas… can you at least tell me _when_ you’ll be able to let me know what’s going on? I… I nearly did something very stupid with Chris tonight. I didn’t in the end, but…”

Hunt looks hurt, but he doesn’t seek any details. “I suppose I deserved that. I’m glad you didn’t actually…” He trails off, clearly not wanting to voice the idea. “Anyway. I want to make this up to you. Let me take you on a date tomorrow, and I’ll come clean with you by the end of the day.”

You look at him in surprise. “That’s… sooner than I thought.”

He gives you a half-smile. “It’s sooner than I thought too, but like I said. It was unfair to ask you to wait. I spent all of today getting everything in order.”

“Is that why you look like you only just managed to survive a hurricane?” You ask with a raised eyebrow.

He glares at you. “Very funny. I had better things to do than maintain my meticulous appearance today.”

“For once,” you say before you can stop yourself.

Hunt’s eyes narrow, but then his mouth suddenly curves up and he starts to laugh; it’s a tired, tired laugh, but it’s full of relief.

“Of all the things I missed about you, I didn’t realize one of them would be your attitude.”

For some reason, the comment makes your weary heart feel a little refreshed.

“It _is_ my best feature,” you say.

Hunt shakes his head, but reaches over the table to take your hand in his. You don’t pull away.


	7. Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see everyone! New apartment, new internet connection, and finally a new chapter. After a year living with my in-laws it was surprisingly hard adjusting to living on my own with my husband again (also, the fact that HWU ended may have broken my heart a little and I couldn't bear opening this document... you know how it goes...) But I've finally managed to fit writing back into my regime again, hurrah!  
> For some unfathomable reason, the wi-fi we have in this apartment will not let me connect to fanfiction.net in any way, shape or form, so I guess it's just you guys, me and AO3 from now.  
> This was a long time coming, but I hope you enjoy it, and apologies for the wait. :)

You wake up the next morning feeling cautiously optimistic. Hunt looks peaceful in his sleep, and you allow yourself to think that maybe everything really is fine, and that this was all a big misunderstanding. Either way, you’re going to find out today… after you milk this make-up date for all it’s worth.

“Thomas…” You gently shake him awake.

He groans, still half sleeping. “No…”

You can’t help but laugh softly. Just for today, you’re going to let yourself remember that you love him. Then, even if everything has crashed and burned by this time tomorrow morning, at least you’ll have one last good memory to cherish.

“Thomas,” you coo again, tracing the contours of his chiselled face. His eyelids begin to flutter, and then he opens them, eyes gazing into yours.

“Good morning,” he says groggily, but he’s smiling and already reaching out for you.

You return the embrace, and your body is happy to be back in his arms again, even if in your mind, you’re fighting away the urge to feel guilty for enjoying it. The urge to worry that he’s playing you. You do your best to push those thoughts away.

“So, what’s on the menu for today?” You asked after pulling back from a sleepy kiss.

He raises an eyebrow. “You think I’m going to give away my secrets that easily?”

You snort. “Of course I don’t. It’s not like there’s any precedent for it.”

His face falls and he takes a deep breath. “…I really am sorry. I… the whole scenario went much differently in my head.”

You suddenly feel uncomfortable. You’d meant for that to be nothing more than a joke, but instead you’d already managed to drag up the current issue and your eyes haven’t even been open for 10 minutes.

“Look, Thomas, let’s just forget about…” You begin, but he shakes his head sternly.

“No. I made the mistake of thinking that if what I was keeping from you was a positive thing, then it didn’t matter how I hid it. It was foolish of me.” He reaches out from under the covers to smooth your hair behind your ear. “I thought it’d be the same as planning a surprise party for someone, when it’s okay lie to them about why they need to be somewhere at a certain time or what you’re doing…”

“Are you saying you’re planning a surprise party for me?” You ask dubiously.

He chuckles, shaking his head. “No. I can tell you that much, at least. It’s not a surprise party, but I suppose it’s along those lines.”

That makes you feel a little more hopeful; maybe even a little excited. “As long as you keep your promise and reveal everything by the end of the day. Particularly…” You punctuate your words with a stern look. “…what role Marianne had to play in all of this.”

“I must be rubbing off on you.” He smirks. “That face you made right now is a Hunt-family classic.”

“How do you know that? Do you practice your glares in the mirror?” You ask, fingers teasingly tracing his light frown lines for good measure.

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” He says wryly. “No, I’ve seen my sister and mother with the exact same expression, and I can only imagine that I inherited it too.”

You stretch out in the large bed, extending your stiff limbs. “Well anyway, even if you refuse to tell me what we’re doing today, at least let me know how I should dress. Are you whisking me away somewhere? What should I be prepared for?”

He catches your hand as you stretch it out above his head, bringing it to his lips and kissing each knuckle once.

“Elegant, classy. Dress like someone Thomas Hunt would want to be seen with.”

“Always with the ego.” You let out a dramatic sigh. “Gosh, like someone Thomas Hunt would want to be seen with, huh? I wonder how I’m going to get my hands on the latest Gucci ensemble at such a late notice?”

“Please, no. I find their use of colour far too garish. You could have at least said Armani,” he says in a pained voice. “Try to have a semblance of class.”

You roll your eyes at him and give him a little shove. “Alright then, Miranda Priestly. Guess I’d better get on it. I’d hate to embarrass you.”

He watches you climb out of bed with a cocky smile. “Good luck.”

 

Despite his teasing, you know that Hunt will think you’re beautiful no matter what you wear (well, maybe not _no_ matter what – if you get dressed in your comfy house pants, there will undoubtedly be words had, and not the nice kind – but as long as you put in some effort, you’ll be safe) and so you aren’t too worried.

Still, you somehow feel like it’s important to look your best today more than ever. At least then if you get your heart broken, he’ll know _exactly_ what he’s missing out on when you walk away. And so you put a little more effort in than usual when you pick out an ensemble and do your hair and makeup to match.

Hunt walks into the bathroom just as you’re fixing your hair with a silver rose barrette, and you spin around to face him.

“What do you think?” You ask. “Are you willing to go out in public with me or should I try again?”

“Hmmm… I suppose it wouldn’t hurt for me to be seen with you for one odd day,” he says, but you can tell from his smile that he thinks you’re exquisite. “Shall we go? Time is of the essence.”

You get into his luxury car and he drives south, and after half an hour you start to get an idea of where he might be taking you.

“Are you going all Throwback Thursday on me with this date?” You ask with a knowing smile.

You see his mouth twitch, but he keeps his eyes on the road.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he answers. “Today is Sunday.”

But despite his protests to the contrary, eventually you pull into the Long Beach Port parking. Hunt comes around to your side of the car and opens the door, offering you a hand.

“So…” You say, taking his hands and exiting the car. “Throwback Sunday, then?”

He smiles mysteriously. “Something like that. I thought that considering the way our first date on Catalina ended, you may like a rematch, so to speak. Now that our relationship is public knowledge, even a million Jenni’s on the island couldn’t ruin it.”

“I beg to differ,” you say, shuddering at the thought. “But I get what you mean. I’d love to be able to experience the island with you without constantly worrying about being caught.”

He leads you towards the port, your hand still firmly clasped in his. “We’re a little early for the ferry, so I thought we could have lunch and something to drink while we wait.”

 

 

An hour and a half later, you’re disembarking the ferry, into a paradise of blue ocean and sandy beaches.

“So, what’s first on the agenda, Mr. Hunt?” You ask him once you’re both back on solid land.

“I thought that since last time we were here, we went straight to the restaurant and then got mixed up in that whole mess right afterwards, we could take a leisurely stroll through the town and take a look at the shops.” He offers you his hand and you take it, interlacing your fingers with his.

Despite the whole mess you’re trying to work through, it feels right somehow, being here with him on a beautiful island, holding hands and strolling along under the warm sun.

The two of you wander the palm tree-lined streets of Avalon, peeking into beautiful jewellery stores and galleries.

“When you and I first came to this island together, I must admit that I wasn’t sure what to expect,” Hunt tells you. “I’d spent so long denying how I felt about you that letting go of that self-control and just being together, normally, was an incredibly strange sensation.”

You laugh at the memory. “You’ve got that right. I had no idea how I was supposed to deal with you being nice to me. Back then, even our compliments were so backhanded that they were basically insults. Not that it’s so different now.”

Hunt smirks. “You say that as if you don’t prefer it that way.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You say that as if I’m the only one who does.”

“Touché.” He gives your hand a squeeze. “In the end though, I must admit that I was surprised how easy it was to fall for you as soon as I let myself. All that time spent telling myself it was impossible and too risky and not worth it, and after just one date all of that was gone.”

“One date that didn’t even go particularly well… I guess I’m just that good.” You chuckle. “But yeah, even after you spent all that time pushing me away and telling me that we couldn’t be together, it was surprisingly easy to get used to you treating me otherwise.”

He looks at you fondly, and there’s something in his eyes that even an actor-director genius such as himself couldn’t possibly fake. The glimmer of hope inside you shines brighter.

“Thank you for not giving up on me,” he says sincerely. “That time… or this time.”

“Well, I knew what I was getting into. You never make things easy for me.” You flash him a cheeky grin. “But I’m not one to give up easily either.”

“Oh, I’m well aware,” he says. “If I’m being honest, I think I knew what I was in for ever since that first night at the masquerade.”

“I still can’t believe you didn’t know it was me,” you sigh. “I was sure you were going to figure it out any second, but when you didn’t I just kind of kept going along with it.”

“Yes…” He says, thoughtfully. “I think… you know, I think I wanted it to be you, but I didn’t want to let myself want it to be you.”

“You’re making my head hurt,” you complain, but he just rolls his eyes.

“Do try to keep up. It isn’t _that_ complicated,” he replies. “What I mean is, I wasn’t allowed to want you, and so if I let myself realize it was you behind the mask, I would’ve been forced to push you away. I suppose you could call it a wilful ignorance. As long as I didn’t know it was you, I was allowed to have you.”

“You definitely denied your feelings hard enough that time we were trapped on set.”

He makes an affirmative noise. “I suppose so… I was struggling with my feelings at that point. Until the moment you removed your mask at the masquerade, before I kissed you, the attraction I’d felt for you had been simmering below the surface. It was there, but I chose not to acknowledge it. As soon as it truly reared its head, I tried my hardest to push it away.”

“The great Thomas Hunt, in love with a student,” you tease him gently. “Yeah, at the time I was pretty one track-minded. I felt something for you and I _knew_ you felt something for me and all I cared about was getting you to admit it. But in hindsight… it’s easy to understand why you were so apprehensive.”

“Once I admitted it, there was no going back. And you…” he glares at you a little. “Even if I _had_ said, ‘yes, I feel something for you, but as student and professor we are obligated not to act on it’, I _knew_ you wouldn’t listen. I knew it would only encourage you further.”

“Turns out I didn’t need the encouragement in the end though, right?” You say sweetly.

“ _You_ …” He says, exasperated, but there’s a glint in his eye, and he moment later he leans in the steal a quick kiss.

You stroll around the town until the shadows grow long and the sun begins to dip in the sky.

“Are you hungry yet?” He asks. “I made reservations…”

“Even if I wasn’t, I’m pretty sure that as soon as I smelled the food anywhere you deem worthy of eating, I’d be hungry in an instant,” you reply.

“That… doesn’t answer my question, but I suspect it’s safe to assume it’s a yes.”

You smile sweetly. “Do try to keep up. It isn’t that complicated.”

He just rolls his eyes and leads you to a restaurant sitting right on the water, gives the staff his name, and a waiter escorts you to a table outside on a wooden deck. You take your seats just as the sky begins to light up with a brilliant red and golden sunset.

You quirk an eyebrow at Hunt.

“Almost as if you planned it all down to the last minute,” you say and he smirks.

“Who, me? When have you ever known me to be so pedantic?”

You read your menus, you browsing the appetizers while Hunt peruses the wine list.

“I know last time we visited Catalina you chose the wine, but do you mind if I order us some drinks to start?” He asks, and you shake your head.

“Go ahead. But only if you let me order us the oysters to share.”

“Excellent choice. They’ll go perfectly with what I have in mind.” He signals a waiter. “May we have two glasses of the Tarlant Zero, and the oysters to start?”

The waiter takes down the order, and disappears inside the restaurant. Once he’s out of earshot you eye Hunt up and ask, “Champagne, huh? Are we celebrating something?”

“Perhaps. We have a lot to celebrate. The completion of your first co-starring role in a Hollywood Blockbuster, which had great opening day figures, by the way… if not a somewhat cliché romance story arc. Congratulations.”

“Uh, thanks… I think?” You say around a snort. “Although I guess since I didn’t write the screenplay, I can still take it as a compliment. So is that what this is all about?”

“That and other things,” Hunt says, slightly mysteriously.

“Hey, you promised me no more secrets,” you chide him. Then add hopefully, “No more secrets, and a few answers?”

“I did,” he agrees, looking into your eyes from across the table. He reaches out and places a hand atop your own. “And after dinner is over, you’ll get them.”

“You tease…” You rib him, rotating your hand and lacing your fingers with his. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to concentrate on the food now.”

He snickers, looking at you knowingly. “You don’t know if you’ll be able to concentrate on your meal in what’s arguably the best seafood restaurant on the island? Believe me, I don’t think that’s going to be an issue.”

The waiter returns with a platter of oysters and two glasses of pale yellow champagne, setting them down in front of you. After he takes your main order and leaves you own your own again, you each take a glass in hand.

“So, what are we toasting to? My successful movie? Or your mysterious, ‘other things’?”

Hunt chuckles, delicately gripping the stem of his glass. You’re struck once again by how handsome he is, the glow of the fading sun catching his dark hair, and it feels like you’re falling in love all over again.

“Would it be too terribly cliché if I proposed a toast to the two of us, or should I consider my reputation as an innovative and ground-breaking director and come up with something more original?” He asks, tilting his glass toward you.

You can’t help but laugh, and let your glass clink against his. “To us,” you say. “Cheers, Thomas.”

“Cheers,” he repeats, raising the glass to his ever-so-slightly smiling lips.

You take a sip of the champagne. Bubbles tickle your tongue and the fruity, floral notes flood your senses. You follow it with an oyster. “Mmm, you were right, these do go well together.”

“Have you ever known me to accept mediocrity before?” He asks.

“Heavens, no. You’re dating me, after all,” you shoot back. You see him barely resist a roll of his eyes. “So, any plans for after dinner, or are those all for me to find out later too?”

“Well, considering our track record with ballroom dancing on the island, I think we’d better not risk it again. So that’s out. What do you think of a walk along a secluded beach in the moonlight, just the two of us?”

You beam at him. “Well, that’s terribly romantic of you, Thomas. Should I be expecting a bouquet of red roses to go with these champagne toasts ‘to us’ and moonlit strolls along the beach?”

His mouth quirks at the edge, “It’s only okay because it’s real life. You can be assured that I’d never allow any of this mush into a movie I was overseeing. Far too cliché.”

“That’s what makes it so special,” you say earnestly, and you see his eyes grow soft.

“Admittedly, you do help me see the appeal of it,” he replies.

You rest your chin in your hand, gazing at him from across the table. “You know, I really want to kiss you right now, but I’m going to have to resist because I probably have oyster breath.”

He laughs and you join in, your heart feeling the lightest it has in months.

Dinner includes what is probably the best tuna you’ve ever tasted in your life, followed by an exquisite chocolate cake that the two of you share as the sky grows dark and lights come on around you, reflecting off the surface on the ocean.

“Well, I don’t think I could eat another bite,” you say, patting your stomach and pushing the empty plate away from you.

Hunt dabs at his mouth delicately with a napkin. “I’m quite satiated myself. I’ll get the bill and then what do you say we get out of here?”

“Well, I do believe I was promised some sand, surf and moonlight,” you say, reaching for your wallet. He puts out a hand to stop you.

“Let me get this one,” he says. “It’s the least I can do after everything and… I’d like to make tonight as special for you as possible.”

You hesitate for a moment. “I… thank you, Thomas. I’m having a great time so far.”

You take the opportunity to go to the bathroom while he pays. When you return, he’s waiting for you, hand outstretched. You take it in your own.

“Shall we?” He asks, and you nod.

 

 

The two of you head to the beach, walking along in comfortable silence. The half-moon shines bright above you in a nearly-cloudless sky, reflection sparkling on the shifting waters of the inky-black sea below.

You reach an outcropping of rocks, and he suddenly stops, pulling you to him, holding you so close that your cheek is pressed into the curve of his neck. There’s no one else around and the only sounds are that of the waves lapping at the sure and the whoosh of his breath mingling with yours.

“Thomas…” You begin, but he silences you with a soft kissed pressed to the top of your head.

“Do you remember this spot?” He asks. Your brow furrows.

“This clump of rocks? No…? Should I?” You say, before it suddenly dawns on you. “No, wait! This is where we hid out at the end of our first date to Catalina, after Jenni almost caught us.”

He pulls back slightly, smirking at you. “So you are slightly observant after all. I was worried for a moment there.”

“It feels much more romantic and secluded when we’re just here because we can be, instead of hiding out in hopes of preventing a huge scandal,” you note, and he makes an affirmative noise in the back of his throat.

“I brought you here for a reason, though, you know. This isn’t just the spot where we hid to try and prevent a huge scandal. This is the spot where…” He pauses, clearing his throat and looking deep into your eyes. You feel like you can see a hint of nervousness there and you aren’t sure why. “This is the spot where we truly made a commitment to each other. Where we promised to go all in, no matter the trouble we’d face, no matter the sacrifices. No matter what.”

“Thomas…” You murmur, and he gently takes his hands in his own.

“I think this is the spot where I finally admitted to myself that you were the most important thing in my life. I knew there was a risk of losing my job, my standing, my reputation, if anyone found out about us… and I knew that I didn’t care. This is where made a promise I wouldn’t give up on us, not only to you, but to myself.”

He takes a deep breath, and you can see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. And then everything seems to be happening in slow motion as he lets go of your hands and gets down on one knee, on the damp sand.

“Thomas…” You say faintly. Your head spinning slightly and it feels like someone else is speaking for you. “Your suit is getting wet.”

“I promised I’d let you know what I was doing with Marianne when I told you I was doing something else. I’m going to keep that promise.” He looks up at you. “While I myself have an admittedly impeccable taste in both fashion and jewellery, neither of us can argue that my old friend, Marianne Delacroix, is the undisputed expert in that area. And I wanted to make sure that what I’m about to give you is nothing short of perfect.”

With that, he takes a little black velvet box from the pocket of his suit pants and pops it open, raising it to you. A diamond ring sits nestled inside, the gem neither too gaudily large nor too small. The band is simple but elegant, with a slight stylish twist, and as he had just said, nothing short of perfect. The sound of blood rushing in your ears grows louder than the sound of the waves on the beach, and you place a hand against the rocks to steady yourself.

“I understand if you can’t say yes right now. I know that until approximately 30 seconds ago, you were still worried that I’d been cheating on you. But I want to ask you to marry me. It’s not that I can’t imagine life without you, it’s that I don’t want to. And I hope that even if you don’t say yes tonight, you will one day.”

“Oh my god…” You can’t think of anything eloquent to say. “Thomas, I… I think you need to stand up and kiss me right now.”

He chuckles, the relief evident in his laughter, and he rises to his feet and sweeps you up in one arm, the other hand still clutching to ring box, and pulls you to him, fusing his mouth to yours. It’s only when your cheek brushes his that you realise it’s wet with your own tears. You pour all your emotions into the kiss – all the bottled up worry and anxiety and desperation, along with the fresh feelings of elation, happiness, excitement and love.

When you finally part, you stare at him seriously. “So… you seriously couldn’t have told me you had a business meeting with Marianne instead of outright lying, and just saved us all the heartache?”

He coughs. “The idea did cross my mind, but I was worried that you’d ask me details about the meeting, or get suspicious as to why we were meeting so often, and… I know it’s irrational, but I was worried you’d figure out what I was doing and the surprise would be ruined. So I decided to keep it all secret. Believe me, if I could go back and redo it, I would take that route. But you know what they say about hindsight.”

You laugh and wipe away a stray tear on your cheek. “You, over thinking things. Imagine that.”

“I truly thought the ends would justify the means, and I truly regret that. I hope you can begin to trust me again. And that you believe me.”

“Oh Thomas…” you sigh. “I know for a fact that you would never propose to anyone just to cover your tracks. Of course I believe you. And I trust you, with my head at least. It might take my heart a little while to catch up, but it will. I know it will.”

He looks at you fondly, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. “Well, you don’t have to answer now. Just know that this ring is for no one other than you, and that I hope that one day you’ll do me the honour of becoming my wife.”

“No,” you say, then clap your hand over your mouth, “No, wait, not no. I don’t mean no, I mean no, I do want to answer right now. I know what I want, Thomas. I want to say yes. I mean, yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

“Well, I think that answer merits a B+. A little verbose, and could do with some editing, but the content itself is good,” Hunt says seriously. You poke him in the ribs and he relents. “Alright, alright. I only jest because despite being a screen writing genius, I have absolutely no idea how to express what I'm feeling right now. I can assure you it's good, though. It's very good.”

You laugh, tears threatening to spill over again. “A kiss would be a good start,” you suggest. “And then you can slide that rock onto my finger. I wanna see how it looks.”

His arms wrap around your waist and you’re keenly aware of the warmth of his body, the silhouette of his face highlighted by the moon overhead and the cool waves barely tickling at your feet.

“Yes. That I can manage, I suppose.”

You melt into his kiss, and for the first time in who knows how long, you have no worries, no fears and everything feels like it’s as it’s meant to be.


End file.
